


Never Again, Again

by Witty_Name_Here



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Angst and Feels, Canon Divergence, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Children of Characters, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dean Winchester Needs to Remove Head From Ass, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Dean Winchester Says the Wrong Thing, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Declarations Of Love, Divergent Timelines, Domestic Fluff, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Ectopic Pregnancy, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Inaccurate Christianity, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love Confessions, Magical Pregnancy, Mirror Souls, Miscarriage, Mutual Pining, Mythology - Freeform, Nephilim, No Beta We Die Like Sam and Dean Winchester, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, One Big Happy Family, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Past Lives, Protective Dean Winchester, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Reincarnation, Sassy Sam Winchester, Slow Burn, Smut, Soulmates, Starting Over, Suicide Attempt, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Time Shenanigans, Timeline What Timeline, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 164,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witty_Name_Here/pseuds/Witty_Name_Here
Summary: Six years ago, Hope met Dean on the worst night of her life. Three months later, everything fell apart. When he shows up in the middle of the night begging for her help to save Sam’s life, she reluctantly agrees. Now, Sam, Dean, and Hope are set on a path to a future where Fate hasn’t decided their destiny. Welcome to Team Free Will – AU edition.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Child Character(s), Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester & Original Child Character(s), Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 148
Kudos: 68





	1. Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I always enjoy feedback from readers, so if you want to chat with me privately you can email me at wittynamehereao3@gmail.com.

_**Lawrence, Kansas - Present Day** _

"Doctor Bennett, you're needed in O.R. three." Hope shot upright from the cot when she heard her name crackle over the hospital's intercom. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head, forcing herself awake as the last remnant of her dream faded away. Why was she dreaming about that night again? It had been years since she'd seen him last. No time for that now; duty called.

Hope raced down the hallway toward the operating room as a first-year resident followed behind, reporting the details. She listened carefully, nodding, and asking questions as she scrubbed in to do the surgery. It was a routine appendectomy on a seven-year-old boy who presented at the E.R. via ambulance an hour before, and Hope had no doubt the surgery would be a success as she took a deep breath and entered the operating room.

Hope emerged from the operating room three hours later, ripping the gloves and gown from her body and wadding them into a ball before shoving them into the biohazard bin. The surgery had been more complicated than she'd expected, and although the patient survived, he'd needed a blood transfusion and a much larger incision than Hope wanted. Now she had to pray to whatever higher power that might exist that the boy's immune system would be strong enough to fight off the burst appendix's resulting infection. After making notes in the patient's chart, including orders for pain medications and antibiotics, then took a deep breath and pasted on a reassuring smile as she went to the waiting room to talk to the boy's parents.

Hope's smile was genuine when she left the boy's parents, although she never liked praise for her work. She wasn't God, after all; however, she knew several of her colleagues considered themselves to be gods. In reality, they were just small men with huge egos who thought the universe must revolve around them because they held people's lives in the palms of their hands.

Gently waving the boy's parents off, she went back to the staff lounge and let out a sigh as she sank down on one of the cots that lined the walls of the room, pulling her watch from the pocket of her scrubs. Only five more minutes until midnight. Her shift would be over and she could go home and crash in her own bed. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, blowing out a breath. The door opened, and Hope turned her head toward the sound, forcing her eyes open. Dr. Rossen, the chief surgeon, leaned against the doorframe, studying her.

"Thirty-six hours is too long, Bennett. Go home," he said. "You need sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Hope mumbled, closing her eyes and stifling a yawn as she turned her face back toward the ceiling.

"You will be dead if you don't get some sleep. Go home, Hope. That's an order."

"What are you, my drill sergeant?" Hope snapped, groaning as she pushed herself off the wall to sit up and glare at him.

Dr. Rossen scoffed, shaking his head. "No, just your boss. Now, get out of this hospital. I don't want to see your face again for the next three days, you hear me?"

Hope stared at him with narrowed eyes but said nothing. He smirked at her, then disappeared out of her sight, the door closing behind him with a soft click. She scrubbed her face with her hands, then got up and grabbed her bag. It was times like these Hope congratulated herself on having a place just three blocks from the hospital. She was in no shape to drive anywhere but walking she could do. Maybe.

Cinching the belt of her coat tighter, Hope stepped out of the emergency room doors and stumbled down the sidewalk toward home. "Keep it together, Hope," she muttered to herself as she stumbled again.

Hope reached the front stoop of her house, looking around wildly, then blinking at her front porch, suddenly unable to remember how she'd gotten there. Shrugging, she trudged up the steps, her feet feeling like they'd been encased in concrete. She unlocked the door with a trembling hand, shoving it open and stumbling over the threshold as her cat, Licorice, circled her feet and meowed in annoyance.

"Hey, baby," Hope said with a soft smile as she dropped her keys onto the entry table and scooped up the ball of fluff, burying her nose in his ebony fur. "Are you hungry? Let's go get you some food, huh?" Licorice meowed again, and Hope walked toward the kitchen, scratching him behind his ears. She set him down on the counter, then picked up his bowl and emptied a can of cat food into it, sliding it in front of him. Licorice chowed down greedily, mewling at her between bites.

Hope yawned, scratching Licorice's ears again. "Sorry buddy, I'm gonna go crash now." The cat mewed again, and Hope chuckled, walking toward the bedroom. She stripped her scrubs off on the way, leaving a trail of clothes behind her, too tired to care about picking them up. A tired smile spread across her face as she entered her bedroom and saw her bed, which she promptly fell into face-first, asleep before she hit the pillow.

~~~~~

"Hold on, Sammy, we're almost there." Dean smashed the accelerator to the floor, glancing down at Sam then back at the road as he changed lanes again. Sam weakly clutched a bundle of bloodied rags against the gaping wound on his side as he slipped into unconsciousness. Dean reached over, placing his own hand on Sam's to keep the pressure on the wound.

"Dammit, Sam. Don't you die on me." Dean exited the highway, flying through the deserted residential streets, hoping the cops were all busy on the other side of town and praying that Hope was at home and not on shift at the hospital. He wasn't even sure she'd open the door for him, let alone help Sam, but Dean didn't see any other option. Hospitals asked too many questions, and how exactly does one convince a surgeon Sam's wound was a bear attack when they were in the middle of Lawrence freaking Kansas?

Dean slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop at the curb in front of Hope's house. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, then glancing at Sam one last time, said, "I'll be right back." He jumped out of the car, racing across the narrow lawn, and took the steps to the door two at a time. All the lights were off, and he said another prayer, smashing his finger repeatedly into the doorbell as he beat his other fist on the door.

"Hope!" Dean yelled through the door, "Hope! Please open up! We need your help!" He sounded desperate, but he didn't care at that moment, nor did he care about the neighbors being offended at the noise. All that mattered was saving Sam, and the only person he knew who could do it was on the other side of the door. "Hope! Please!" Dean glanced back at the car, resisting the urge to go check on Sam. He pounded on the door harder, breathing a sigh of relief as a light came on upstairs, casting a glow on the lawn behind him.

~~~~~~

Hope groaned, flipping the bedside light on and cracking one eye to look at the clock. Four o'clock. What twat waffling thundercunt was beating on her front door at four o'clock in the morning?

"Go the fuck away," Hope groaned as the pounding grew louder. If whoever it was kept this up, the neighbors were going to call the cops. "Fucking hell," she groaned again, getting up and putting on her robe, jerking the belt too tight around her waist. "Someone better be fucking dying."

She stomped down the stairs, ignoring her discarded clothing as she did, mumbling to herself the whole way. "Hold your damn horses, I'm coming!"

Hope flipped on the porch light as she yanked the front door open, ready to give whatever idiot that stood on the other side a piece of her mind. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw _him_ standing there, covered in blood—his or someone else's, she couldn't tell. Without a word, she tried to slam the door, but he put out a hand to stop her from closing it.

"Hope, please. It's Sam, he's in bad shape." Hope glared at him through the barely open door as he pleaded with her. "Please, I'm begging you to save him."

She considered slamming the door in his face anyway; after what he'd done he deserved that much, but he wasn't the one in trouble, and they had saved her life once. "Fine," she relented, opening the door. "Get him in here."

Dean nodded, fading into the darkness as he ran back to the car and pulled Sam out, supporting his weight and keeping as much pressure as he could on the wound. Sam's shirt was stained crimson and sticking to his skin as blood dripped in a stream across the yard and up the porch steps.

Hope heard Dean's heavy footsteps and stuck her head out of the kitchen, waving toward him. "In here." Dean nodded, and Hope ignored the sound of splattering blood on the hardwood floor. What the hell had they gotten into this time? "Lay him over there." Hope gestured toward the dining table she'd covered with a plastic drop cloth. Dean did as she instructed, laying Sam gently on the table as he groaned and mumbled something incoherent. Hope pushed between Dean and Sam, assessing Sam's injuries.

Beads of sweat dotted Sam's forehead, but he wasn't running a fever yet. Hope reached into the small medical kit and pulled out a syringe of Vancomycin, then unbuttoned Sam's pants and jerked one side down, exposing one butt cheek. Glaring at Dean, who still held pressure on the bleeding wound, Hope stabbed the needle tip into the curve of Sam's butt cheek, getting a small grunt from Sam in response.

She tossed the needle aside, cringing inwardly as she did, but this was not an operating room; it was her kitchen, and already as far from a sterile environment as she could get. She motioned for Dean to remove the bloody rags, and Hope gasped at the sight before her when he did as she asked. Sam's blood-soaked t-shirt was shredded in three long tears, and Hope tried to not think too hard about what made them. Each gash was about five inches long, running vertically from ribs to hip, the skin lying mangled and open.

"Son of a bitch," Hope breathed, digging in her medical bag for supplies. "What the hell happened to him?" She laid out the surgical staple gun and stitching implements next to Sam on the table, then pulled out an IV bag and needle.

"Do you really want to know?" Dean replied, watching Hope with horrified interest. "What's that for?"

"He needs fluids or he'll go into shock." Hope replied, her voice devoid of emotion. She had no room for any of that right now; she was running on far too little sleep to attempt a surgery like this. She needed all the detachment she could get because, here she was, about to do just that, on her dining table of all places.

Hope thanked her lucky stars she got the IV started on the first try, then handed the IV bag to Dean. "I need you to either hold this, or come up with some way to keep it elevated." Dean nodded, relieved to have something to do besides watch and worry about Sam.

Hope cut away the remnants of Sam's shirt, and using a gloved finger, she explored the depths of the wounds as Sam cried out in agony. There was no organ damage to repair, and Hope was grateful for that, but sewing him up would be a nightmare without anesthetic.

"You're going to have to hold him down while I sew him up." Dean stared at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend the cold, detached tone of voice she used with him. He knew she wasn't his biggest fan, but this was the opposite of the warm and kind Hope he'd known once.

"Dean! I need you to focus if you want him to live. He's already lost too much blood, I'm not even sure I _can_ save him now." Dean nodded, glancing around the room, looking for something to lay the IV bag on. He pressed the bag into Hope's hands as he remembered the wooden coat rack next to the front door, disappearing down the short hallway and then reappearing with it in his hand. He balanced the IV bag between the hooks, then moved to stand at Sam's head, taking a deep breath and pressing Sam's shoulders into the table.

"Are you ready?" Hope asked, picking up a bottle of saline solution and the surgical staple gun. Dean nodded, and Hope took a deep breath and went to work.

Sam screamed and thrashed as Hope cleaned, stapled, and stitched up the open wounds. Tears filled her own eyes at his agony, and she praised the man who discovered ether, and subsequently, anesthesia. She blinked away the tears and continued working; she'd come too far to stop now.

As she stitched, Hope's mind began wandering, sparking the simmering anger that lay just beneath the surface to life. How dare Dean show up and do this to her? He had no idea what he'd done to her when he left the last time, and to just show up here and expect her to help him was too much to ask of anyone. And yet, here she was, stitching up a dying Sam on her dining table.

Hope stood up, pulling off her gloves after the last of the wounds were cleaned and stitched. "I got the bleeding under control, but he probably won't make it through the day. He needs a blood transfusion, something he could get if you'd taken him to the fucking hospital instead of here, to me."

Dean shook his head. "You know why I couldn't take him to the hospital, Hope. Just use my blood. We're the same blood type."

"Legally, I can't. If something goes wrong, it would mean my medical license, Dean. Not to mention all the other issues that go along with that." Hope shook her head, automatically counting Sam's respirations as she watched the rise and fall of his chest.

"And you think you wouldn't lose your license for doing surgery in the middle of your kitchen? Sam has to live, so if a blood transfusion is what he needs, tell me what to do and I'll do it myself." Dean said, gesturing toward her medical supplies.

"It's not that simple, Dean— "Hope started.

"Dammit, Hope! Yes it is! Now either help me, or tell me what I have to do to save Sam!" Hope flinched as Dean's voice echoed off the walls of her kitchen, but she didn't give an inch.

"Bloody hell," Hope yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You haven't changed a damn bit. I.can’t.do.it, Dean! If you wanted him to have a blood transfusion, you should have taken him to the fucking _hospital_! So unless you plan on doing some breaking and entering to rob a blood bank, it ain't happening!"

Dean growled in frustration, then slammed his fist down on the counter. "Where's the nearest one? Don't think I won't do it, Hope."

Hope rolled her eyes as she pressed her fingers into Sam's wrist, feeling for his pulse. It was thready, but still there. "Don't think I don't know you will, Dean Winchester. Why the hell did you even bring him here, anyway? I haven't seen either of you in six years, and the hospital is three blocks away. You sure as hell didn't bring him here because you wanted to see me. Not after what happened between us."

Dean turned away from her, pressing his knuckles into the countertop as he tilted his face toward the ceiling. He practically vibrated with tension as Hope watched him. Her anger toward him melted, just a little, but it was enough that she shook her head in annoyance with herself. That was how it always went with Dean, he could make her angry enough to strangle him one minute, and the next, he'd show her a hint of the sadness and pain that stayed hidden at the very core of his being, softening her resolve to hate him. At least until he opened his mouth again.

This time, she thought, was different. There was a reason Dean brought Sam here, and he'd done it against his better judgment, no doubt. Things were ugly the last time they parted, and they'd told each other in the most absolute terms possible to go fuck themselves, then they hadn't spoken for six years.

Dean swallowed hard, then let out a long sigh as he turned to face her. He refused to look at her, though; instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Sam, his green eyes glinting with sadness. "I couldn't take him to the hospital. What the hell story could I tell them that would explain that?" He gestured toward Sam's midsection as he glanced up at her. "I brought him here because I knew you wouldn't ask questions, you'd just patch him up and send us on our way."

"Glad to know you think of me as a walk-in clinic for all your supernaturally gained injuries," Hope snarled as she finished examining Sam. Dean frowned, raising his gaze to meet hers. "Dr. Hope Bennett, at your service. Is there anything else I can do for you, your majesty, king of the monster hunters?"

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and she hated herself for being so bitchy, especially since she was the only one who knew she didn’t still hate him. Not completely, at least. It took several months of therapy and meditation for Hope to understand that her anger at what happened that night all those years ago was not anger—but grief. Dean Winchester hadn't just broken her heart, he'd ripped it from her chest with his bare hands and crushed it to dust, and he'd done it with a smile.

"That's—" Dean sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cabinet, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles turned white. "Not what I meant." His voice was low, the rich baritone sound sending a slight shiver through Hope's body. His jaw muscle twitched as though he were trying to stop himself from saying more. "I just—"

"You know what? Save whatever thing you were about to say, Dean. I really don't care." Hope threw up her hands and shook her head. "It doesn't matter anyway, because like you said, you'll be on your way after Sam's patched up. Speaking of which," Hope jerked her chin toward Sam, "he's going to need to be off his feet for several weeks, but if he survives the next twenty-four hours, he has a good chance of recovering."

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of anything to say, but nothing came to him. Dean's heart lodged firmly in his throat as he watched her, and Hope scoffed, shaking her head in dismay as she brushed past him on her way to the sink to clean up.

"I'm sorry, Hope," he mumbled, pushing himself off the counter and grabbing a chair, spinning it around and sitting backwards on it next to Sam. He rested his arms across the chair's back as he watched Sam breathe. He looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling at steady intervals, like he'd fallen asleep after a long day, instead of lying on Hope's dining table fighting for his life.

Hope leaned on the sink, staring at him over her shoulder in disbelief. She didn't bother turning off the faucet, letting the scalding water continue to run over her hands even though she'd stopped scrubbing. Dean didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on Sam again, and she could see the lines of worry around his mouth and eyes. Hope swallowed, turning her attention back to her hands, the skin burning red from heat, and wondered just who the hell was sitting in her kitchen.

"I'm sorry too," she muttered, the words leaving her mouth before she even realized she'd said them. All these years, she'd told herself that night was Dean’s fault, that she'd done nothing wrong, but no matter how many times she repeated it, Hope knew it wasn't right to blame just Dean. Not entirely, anyway. She turned off the water, reaching for the dish towel to dry her hands before turning back to him.

Dean stared at her, his mouth slightly open, and the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. His life for the last six years had been a train wreck, and he didn't have much time to reflect on anything other than survival most of the time, but on the rare nights when he was alone, Hope was the woman who haunted his dreams.

Hope shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then settled for leaning against the front of the sink, uncomfortable under his gaze. She cleared her throat, looking anywhere but at those eyes and that mouth she'd dreamed out so many nights since she'd seen him last. Right now, Hope wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them and feel his mouth on hers one last time. A faint blush rose to her cheeks as she shoved the memory away, cursing under her breath for being so pathetic as tears sprang to the corners of her eyes.

Dean watched her, idly wondering if she'd ever moved on. He cleared his throat, and her head snapped toward him and the sound, her whiskey-colored eyes glittering in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. "Hope—" he started, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"No Dean, just don't. Whatever you think you want to say, it doesn't matter now. Anything that happened between us was a long time ago, and it's water under the bridge. Please, just leave it alone." Hope sighed, resigning herself to the knowledge that the few precious hours of sleep Dean rousted her from was all she'd get for the foreseeable future. She went to the coffee pot, measuring and pouring the grounds into the basket, feeling his eyes on her the whole time, as though he were trying to send her a telepathic message instead of speaking whatever it was he wanted to say. "You want some coffee?" Hope asked, glancing at him over her shoulder as she started the pot.

Dean nodded but said nothing else. What could he say? Hope made it clear she didn't want to talk about the two of them, so what did that leave? The weather? An awkward silence fell between them, punctuated by Sam's chest rising and falling as he breathed and the rhythmic _drip, drip_ of the brewing coffee.

Hope poured the half-full pot into two black stoneware mugs, then dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into each one. "Do you still like it black or..?" She didn't turn to him, her voice trailing off as she waited for an answer.

"Black is fine," Dean replied. It didn't escape him that she still remembered how he took his coffee, and once again, he mentally kicked himself for being such an asshole to her all those years ago. Hope nodded; her looped ponytail bobbing was the only indication of acknowledgment Dean could see from his seat at the table.

He watched as she stirred the coffee, the spoon clinking softly against the side of the mug as her long, delicate fingers lifted it out of the liquid and tapped it on the rim. Picking up one cup, she crossed the short distance between the counter and where he sat, holding the mug out to him, her fingers looped inside the handle of the mug as she cradled it. He offered a slight smile as he took it, his fingers brushing over hers on purposeful accident, sending a bolt of electricity through him.

Hope felt it too, and she turned away quickly, closing her eyes and forcing herself to breathe as she went back to the counter and picked up her own steaming mug, inhaling the scent of the roasted beans and driving all her other thoughts away. She sipped her coffee as she moved around the table, assessing Sam. There hadn’t been any complications with the impromptu surgery so far, but she had a feeling that would change, and she’d learned a long time ago to never ignore her gut feelings about a patient.

Hope’s ears perked up as she heard the drip of something wet hitting a solid surface. What the hell? She frantically checked Sam’s stitches for bleeding, but didn’t find anything, so she glanced up at the sink, thinking maybe—just maybe, she’d left the faucet dripping. No such luck. Something was wrong; she could feel it. Hope swallowed hard, then looked at Dean.

His face was deathly white, tiny beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The coffee cup trembled in his hand before he lost his grip, and it fell to the floor, shattering in a starburst pattern of dark amber and black stone. “Hope,” he whispered as his eyes fluttered closed, and he fell backward out of the chair. A strangled cry escaped her as she rushed to his side, seeing the six-inch-wide pool of blood beneath the chair out of the corner of her eye.

“Son of a bitch,” she seethed, cursing herself for not noticing Dean was injured too as she patted him down, searching for the source of the blood. “So help me God, Dean, if you die on my kitchen floor, I will bring you back and kill you myself.”

Hope patted him down, finding a couple of cracked ribs but no major trauma to his lungs. She let relief wash over her for a single instant before moving on. Dean’s shirt was bloodstained and torn, just like Sam’s, and it was no wonder she hadn’t noticed the gaping valley where a bullet had grazed his side, leaving it a mangled mass of skin and muscle where the molten metal had torn through.

“What the hell kind of trouble did you two get into?” Hope hissed, reaching for her medical bag. Of course, she had no idea how long he’d been bleeding before he decided to pass out on her kitchen floor, but she thought it had to have been for some time. Had Dean even noticed he’d been shot? Or had he been so focused on saving Sam that he didn’t care if he lived?

The wound wasn’t quite deep enough for staples, but regardless, he’d lost a lot of blood. Hope shook her head as she stitched, marveling at his what? Martyrdom? Is that what it was? She didn’t know; all she’d ever known was that Dean Winchester, and to some extent Sam as well, operated on a level far beyond any other person she’d ever known. He did everything to the extreme, and Hope often rated her ER patients on a zero-to-Winchester scale to prioritize their care. None of her patients ever reached the Winchester end of the scale, although a few gave it a valiant effort and came damn close.

She pulled another IV bag from her kit, she’d have to restock after tonight, but she decided that didn’t really matter right now and jabbed the needle into Dean’s vein on the first try. “Must be my lucky fuckin’ night,” Hope muttered as she positioned the bag on the coatrack where Sam’s half-empty bag balanced. She checked Dean’s pulse, counting respirations as she did, and one corner of her mouth curled upward at the steady _bump-bump_ beneath her fingertips.

Hope stood up, glancing around the kitchen in disgust. The early morning’s events left it wrecked, and she heaved a heavy sigh as she shifted her gaze from Sam lying on the table to Dean sprawled out on the floor. She checked Sam’s pulse one last time, pleased to find that it had steadied, just a little. Hope laid his hand across his stomach and set about cleaning up the room, marveling at the wake of destruction the Winchesters left behind them, no matter where they went.


	2. The Night We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes back in time six years to the night Hope met Dean and explains a bit of their history. I've fiddled with editing it for two days now, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it, so if anyone has constructive ideas for improvement, drop a comment below. I'd love to read them! As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> ****Content Warning for this Chapter - Rape References/Aftermath*** Nothing over the top graphic I don't think, but it's there, and you have been warned.

_**Labor Day Weekend, Six Years Ago** _

"Come on, Hope," Heather said as a mischievous grin spread across her face, "It's Friday night, on a holiday weekend. Crawl out from under your mountain of books and have a little fun with us. It's only one night." Heather's lip puckered in a pout, and Hope couldn't help but smile at her sister. Who could say no to that face?

"Fine," Hope said, sighing as she put away the medical journal she was studying. She was in her first year of residency at the hospital, and at times she still felt like she was in medical school since she always seemed to be buried in medical texts and journals. Hope wanted to be a doctor for as long as she could remember. After eight grueling years of education, her dream was finally becoming a reality, if she survived her residency. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Heather nodded, then bounced out of Hope's bedroom. Hope watched her disappear through the door, then shook her head and chuckled. Heather hadn't changed at all in the time Hope had been away at school, and Hope prayed she never would. Hope was serious enough for the both of them.

Hope swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling off her pajama top. She rummaged in her dresser drawers for her favorite tank top and shorts, pulling them on before closing the drawer with her hip and sliding her feet into shoes. After checking her hair and makeup in the mirror, Hope opened the door and headed downstairs as Heather's voice floated up from downstairs.

"Come on, slowpoke! Let's go!"

Hope smiled, rolling her eyes. "I'm coming, hold your damn horses!" She yelled back, running down the stairs and out the door as Heather honked her Jeep's horn. Heather gave her a toothy smile as Hope climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt.

"This is gonna be soo much fun!" Heather adjusted her sunglasses, then backed the Jeep out of the driveway, the tires slinging dirt and gravel as they sped down the dirt road toward the river.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the trees near the river in a golden halo of light, the shadows of twilight stretching their fingers out along the rippling water. Heather skidded to a stop, parking next to the line of other cars. Hope swallowed, wiping her sweaty palms on her shorts as she got out of the Jeep. She didn't recognize most of these people, even though Heather promised it would be a reunion of sorts.

"Heather, where is everyone I know?" Hope murmured, watching two guys stack wood for the bonfire.

"Yeah…about that—" Heather shrugged, her voice trailing off. "I just really wanted you to come with me so I wouldn't be out here by myself. You know how Dad gets."

Hope pursed her lips, unable to hide the look of annoyance on her face. Heather shrugged innocently, wiggling her eyebrows. "I don't have time for this, Heather. I need to go home and study." She pulled out her phone. No service.

"Come on, Hope," Heather whined. "Please stay."

Hope knew she'd regret giving in to her sister's request, but she nodded anyway. Heather squealed, clapping her hands and throwing her arms around Hope. Hope rolled her eyes and patted Heather's back in a half-hearted hug, then took a step back.

"Go," Hope said, gesturing toward the crowd of people. "Go have fun with your friends. I'll just entertain myself."

"Are you sure?" Heather asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I can totally hang out with you if you want."

Hope chuckled, knowing Heather was secretly praying Hope would send her on her way. "I know you didn't come out here to hang with your boring big sister. Go, do whatever it is normal people do on a Friday night."

"Thanks, Hope. You're the bestest sister ever," Heather said, making Hope laugh. Heather hadn't said that to Hope since they were kids, and Hope longed for the days when she had actually been the fun sister.

"I'm your only sister," Hope called out as Heather bounded away. "And you owe me!"

Heather flashed a toothy smile over her shoulder, waving in acknowledgment as she disappeared into the throng of people crowding around the blazing bonfire. Hope sighed, rubbing her arms. It was dark now, and the air held a slight chill, the first sign autumn would be in full force before they knew it.

Hope found a cooler, fishing out a beer bottle and twisting off the top, sipping it as she wandered around the party, saying hello to the few people she knew and generally feeling like an outsider. It wasn't uncommon for her to feel that way, and she'd made peace with it for the most part, but the few times she tried to rejoin humanity after med school always left her feeling empty. Med school had been her entire life for the last eight years; there was no time for anything else. Relationships of any kind were impossible; ordinary people didn't have the patience for her unpredictable schedule, and Hope wasn't about to give up her dreams of being a surgeon for anyone.

Hope grabbed a blanket out of the Jeep's back seat, pausing for a moment to admire the classic car parked to the side. It was sleek, shiny black, and massive; the hood alone was probably the same size as her bed. It hadn't been there when they arrived, she was sure of it. Hope had no idea what kind of car it was, she wasn't really into that kind of thing, but she could appreciate beauty regardless of what shape it took.

Smiling to herself, she walked back to the gathering and spread the blanket near the fire. She sat down, resting her elbows on her knees as she sipped her beer and watched the crowd of people talking and laughing. No one acknowledged her, and she told herself that was fine; it wasn't like she knew anyone besides Heather, anyway. Somewhere in the background, someone blasted some classic rock song through car stereo speakers, AC/DC, by the sound of it. Hope bobbed her head along with the beat, marveling at how some people could have such great taste in music with maybe two brain cells to share among them.

Hope looked around and found her sister, the genius she was, doing a keg stand and surrounded by people chanting. Hope rolled her eyes. "Great," she muttered. "Well, at least we'll get to go home soon." Hope took another sip of her beer, emptying the bottle and ignoring the pit of loneliness inside her chest that threatened to swallow her whole if she let it. Hope stood up, wandering around the fire for a few minutes before finding a trash barrel and another cooler of beer. She bent to grab a bottle from inside when someone caught her attention.

Hope swallowed, twisting off the beer's cap and taking a long drink as she watched the stranger. He was tall and broad-shouldered, standing alone and staring into the flames, ignoring everything going on around him. She wondered if she should go talk to him; after all, she knew what it felt like to be alone in a crowd of people better than most.

Decision made, she walked around the fire, dodging stumbling people and making her way toward him. "Hey," Hope said. She stood beside him now, the top of her head barely hitting his shoulder height. Hope gazed up at him and felt short when he glanced down at her.

"Hey yourself," he said with a soft smile, taking a sip from the cup in his hand. Hope licked her lips that now somehow felt like two strips of sandpaper stuck to her face. They stood in silence for a few moments as Hope wracked her brain to think of something else to say. She cursed herself for being so focused on school that she forgot how to interact with people.

"So, are you from around here? I don't think I've seen you before." It was only half-true, really. She'd only returned to Kansas less than a year before, so unless this man ended up in the emergency room of Lawrence Memorial Hospital, Hope wouldn't have seen him anywhere. With her hours, it was more comfortable to just sleep in the hospital's staff room than try and go home to sleep and endure her father's endless looks of silent disapproval.

"Not anymore," he said. He didn't look directly at Hope, instead staring into the flames. "I used to live here once, a really long time ago." The note of pain in his voice was unmistakable, at least to Hope, but she didn't press for details. There was a story behind it no doubt, and maybe he'd share it with someone eventually, but that someone wouldn't be her. "How about you?"

The rich, baritone sound of his voice amid the crackling flames brought her out of her spiraling thoughts. "What? Oh, sorry." She said, cracking a half-smile. "Yeah, I was born here, grew up here, escaped for a while to go to college, then came back to help out after my mom died, and I'll most likely die here."

The mention of college seemed to intrigue him. He half-turned to Hope, searching her face. For what, Hope didn't know, maybe a hint of recognition or something. She swallowed hard as she held his gaze, the flames reflecting in his eyes, turning them into molten pools of amber, and that mouth...Hope cleared her throat, turning back toward the fire and studying it like it held the secrets of the universe within its dancing flames. Heat crept up her cheeks as she tried to think about anything other than kissing him.

"Where did you go to college?" He still studied her, but Hope refused to look at him again, too afraid he might see the salacious thoughts in her eyes.

"Stanford, for both undergrad and med school," she coughed, taking a drink of her beer. He let out a low whistle, shoving a hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"Stanford, huh? My brother went there, a long time ago," he replied. "Pre-law. I think that's what he said, anyway." The stranger shrugged, turning back to the fire. After a few moments of silence, he added, "so you work at the hospital here in Lawrence?"

Hope nodded, unsure why he wanted to know. He's probably just trying to make conversation the same as me, she thought. "Yeah, that's right. I'm in my first year of residency. I hope to be a trauma surgeon when I finish."

He gave an appreciative nod and flashed her a grin, lifting his cup and staring into it for a moment before taking another drink. "That's—that's impressive."

"Thanks. I'm Hope, by the way." She held out her free hand to him, and he shook it lightly, giving her a slight nod.

"Nice to meet you, Hope. I'm Dean."

Hope dropped her hand, then drained her bottle. "Well, I should probably go find my sister. See you around, Dean." Dean nodded, turning as though to say something else as she walked away, but he didn't, and Hope wondered why. She glanced behind her, but he'd already disappeared into the crowd of people milling about. Had he even been there at all?

Hope looked around, looking for both Dean and Heather, but saw neither of them. She slapped at her neck, feeling the sting of an insect bite there. "Fuckin' mosquitoes," she muttered, suddenly annoyed and ready to go. Where the bloody Hell was Heather?

Hope stumbled, trying to right herself as the world spun around her. The people and music sound garbled and ran together, and Hope thought it sounded like the teacher from a Charlie Brown movie. She shook her head, regretting it instantly as the world spun faster. Hope stumbled toward the grove of trees farther away from the crowd, desperately trying to keep her eyes open. She tripped over a tree root, slamming face-first into the ground as her bones liquified, and she lay still, the world around her spinning wildly before it faded to black.

~~~~~

"Did you talk to her?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's eye roll.

"Yes, Sam, I did. And you were right, she did go to Stanford, and her name is Hope. What is the point of this? Why are we even here?" Dean leaned against the Impala's hood, staring at the crowd of people getting more drunk and more stupid with every second that passed. "Isn't her dad the one—"

"Yes," Sam replied, cutting him off. "I wanted to be sure she was who I thought."

"Then maybe you should've talked to her," Dean snapped, glaring at Sam. "It's not like you dated or anything. You said she graduated and started medical school your first year at Stanford, right?"

"Exactly, Dean. Which makes her closer to your age than mine and I just thought—" Sam paused, looking away.

"You thought what, Sam?"

"Look around, Dean. This party is nothing but a bunch of drunken frat boys. You looked as out of place here as she did, so I thought she might relate to you better than me. It turns out I was right." Sam's mouth curved into a self-satisfied smirk as he stared at Dean. He'd met Hope before, a few times actually, and he had no doubt she'd remember him, but he'd sent Dean instead with the vague hope they'd hit it off. It would make what came next much simpler.

"Well, thank you so much, cupid," Dean seethed, scanning the crowd again for a few moments before realizing he was looking for a specific face. "Are you done playing matchmaker now?"

"That's not what—" Sam protested, falling silent as a woman stumbled into him hard enough that he took a steadying step as he caught her by the arms. Dean rolled his eyes as she looked up at Sam doe-eyed and grinning, murmuring something along the lines of "my hero." He usually loved the drunk, dumb ones, but something wasn't sitting right with him now, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone.

"Whoa, easy there sweetheart," Sam said, steadying the girl as she stumbled again. The young woman giggled, pulling out her car keys and half-stumbled to the door of the Jeep parked next to them. She fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the door as they slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thud in the dirt. Cursing softly, she bent to retrieve them and fell over onto her side, giggling. Sam helped her sit up, leaning her against the Jeep's oversized wheel as she tilted her head back and gave him a lazy, lopsided smile.

"Hey, is there someone we can call for you? You're in no shape to drive like that." Sam frowned at her as she closed her eyes, moving her mouth from side to side as she appeared to be thinking about what he said. Several moments later, realization dawned across her face, and she opened her eyes.

"Sister," she slurred, breathing hard. "She's here—somewhere." She waved her arm wildly in the direction of the crowd around the bonfire.

Sam rolled his eyes. Great. Hopefully, her sister would be closer to sober than she was. "Alright, what's your sister's name and we'll see if we can find her."

The young woman nodded, bringing her knees to her chest and resting one elbow on them as she used her hand to force her head upright. "Hope," she murmured, closing her eyes. "And you can find her wherever the boring people are." The young woman giggled at her joke, then sighed, her jaw going slack as she passed out.

"Son of a bitch," Dean seethed as Sam motioned to him for help. He pushed himself off the car, snapping up the dirty Jeep keys and unlocking the door as Sam laid Hope's sister across the backseat, then closed the door gently. He turned to Dean, who held up a hand.

"I know, Sam." He said, his mind already working several steps ahead. He didn't want to see Hope again, especially not now that he knew how she fit into the case they were working, but those whiskey-colored eyes of hers might haunt his dreams for the rest of his life if he didn't talk to her one more time. "Let's split up and see if we can find her."

They wandered in and out of the crowd around the fire, but there was no sign of Hope anywhere. Dean was just about to give up and go back to the car when a muffled scream came from the trees. Hope. It had to be.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. "Sam! Over here!" He sprinted toward the grove of trees, stopping on the outside edge as Sam caught up to him. Sam started to speak, but Dean held up a hand and shushed him. The sound came again, softer this time, although no less desperate. "This way."

Dean took off through the thick brush, Sam on his heels. What the Hell would Hope be doing out here anyway? His eyes darted around in the darkness, looking for any sign of her, but there were none. Uneasiness clawed at the base of his spine as he and Sam ran further into the woods.

Dean slowed when he saw the clearing ahead of them. Sam almost collided with him, staring at him in confusion as Dean gestured toward the six men standing shoulder to shoulder in a circle around something. Or was it someone? Torches were placed all around the clearing, their flames flickering and dancing in the breeze.

"Please," came a voice from the ground between them. Hope. "Please, stop. Let me go."

"Aw, fuck, I love it when they beg," growled one of the men as he dropped his pants and positioned himself between Hope's legs, thrusting into her without warning. Hope screamed again, tears streaming down her face as she thrashed against the weight of him, desperately trying to find a way to escape. Everything was still so fuzzy, and she couldn't remember how she got there, let alone where to go if she managed to get away.

She lay spread eagle like a sacrificial lamb, her wrists and ankles bound with a rough rope that cut into her flesh like razor blades as she struggled against the weight of the man on top of her. He was the second one so far, and somewhere in the back of her mind Hope feared she might die here, like this. Her father would really be disappointed then, wouldn't he?

"Well they're not supernatural creatures, so that's too bad. At least then we could kill them," Sam muttered, his jaw muscle twitching furiously as he started toward the clearing.

"No, just a bunch of fucking douchebags who should've kept their tiny Vienna Sausages in their pants." Hellfire raced through Dean's veins as he watched Hope's head loll to one side, her eyes fluttering closed. He squared his shoulders, then marched into the clearing behind Sam.

"What the fuck you think yer doing? Get out of here! Go find your own party slut, this one's ours." One asshole yelled, then turned back to the scene before him, chanting and cheering as Hope screamed and cried out for them to stop.

Dean exchanged a single glance with Sam, then glared at the others. "I don't think so, asshat."

~~~~~

The clearing erupted in chaos, and Hope inhaled deeply as the weight on top of her disappeared in an instant; and she braced herself for the next assault, but it never came. She wanted to open her eyes and see what was happening, but her brain wouldn't cooperate. The sounds of fists pounding on flesh and the crack of breaking bones brought her little comfort since she had no idea if whoever showed up was just eliminating the competition.

The world around her grew still, the sounds of fighting replaced with the heavy breathing and moans of her assailants, each of them in varying degrees of pain. Serves the hellspawn right, she thought. Hope flinched, the rough rope on her wrists and ankles digging deeper into her flesh as calloused hands untied her. Once free, she curled into a fetal position, whimpering softly.

"Please, please, just go away," Hope begged. Dean reached out to pick her up, and she flailed at him, a weak and desperate attempt to get away. At this point, she just wanted to be left alone to die.

"Hope," Dean said, blocking a flailing hand from smacking him in the nose. "Hope, it's me. Dean. Remember?"

Hope stopped, the sound of Dean's voice pulling her into the present. She dropped her hands, opening one eye, as her blood roared in her ears. Surely he wasn't going to hurt her, right? Movement off to the side of the clearing caught her eye, and her head snapped that direction to see another huge man using the same rope they'd freed her from to bind her attackers. When he finished, he came back and stood next to Dean, gazing down at Hope with sad eyes. Eyes she recognized, even in her current state.

"Sam?" She murmured, squinting in disbelief. "Sam, is that you?" Hope closed her eyes, unwilling to see his nod of affirmation. Just what she needed, the man of her dreams and Sam Winchester looking at her with pity because they just had to save her from possibly the worst experience of her entire life. How the Hell did Dean know Sam anyway? Something niggled her memory as Hope scrambled away from them, avoiding their gaze as much as possible. Try as she might to connect the dots, she just couldn't do it and decided it was the least of her worries right now.

Embarrassed tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to cover herself. She was naked from the waist down, and her tank top was torn halfway down the front, exposing her bare breasts. Dean swallowed hard as he watched her, glancing over to the group of shitstains who'd attacked her, wanting nothing more than to rip each of their heads off with his bare hands. No way it would be considered murder. As far as he was concerned, it could be viewed as a public service.

Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket, then slowly approached her, wrapping it around her shoulders. Hope flinched as he did so, but the jacket's warmth was irresistible, and she pulled it tight around her, breathing in the scent of leather and woodsmoke, cinnamon, and something else that she didn't recognize. The only thing that came to her muddled brain was that it was distinctly _Dean_.

She squeaked in protest as he lifted her into his arms, careful to make sure the jacket kept her covered. Inside her head, her mind screamed, _"Please, please, put me down. Don't hurt me, I can't take anymore."_ Hope's face twisted in fear and panic as Dean gazed down at her, and she thought it odd that as terrified as she was, his eyes caught and held her in place as her mind spun out of control. From this distance, and in this light, she saw they weren't amber-colored like her own, but green, reminding her of a field of grass on a warm, sunny day.

"Where are you taking me?" Hope croaked, her heart hammering in her chest as her throat constricted, leaving her light-headed and struggling to breathe.

"Home, or to the hospital. Your choice," Dean replied, nodding toward Sam as he started toward the edge of the clearing. "Your sister is passed out drunk in the back of her Jeep."

Hope nodded, letting out a slow breath. At least Heather was safe. "Please, just take me home. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want my colleagues to see me like this." Dean nodded, saying nothing as Sam led them back out of the woods.

The party was still going strong, the drunken college students oblivious to what happened less than five hundred yards from where they were partying, and Dean couldn't help but snort in disgust as he skirted the outside of the group and headed toward the parked cars. Sam unlocked the Jeep's passenger side door, swinging the door open as wide as he could as Dean set Hope down in the car. She pulled Dean's jacket tighter around her as he shut the door and walked around front, trading keys with Sam and uttering a few words before climbing inside with her.

"So where is home?" Dean asked, putting the car in reverse and backing up as the shiny black car next to them rumbled to life. Hope stared at it, then glanced at Dean, who nodded at her unspoken question.

"Hey, Siri," Hope said, beyond grateful that Heather never let her phone out of her sight, no matter how wasted she was. Hope's phone was God knew where now. She tried not to smile as Dean stared at her in confusion while waiting for Siri's acknowledgment. "Give me directions to Home."

"Getting directions to—Home," Siri said. Dean shook his head, putting the car in gear and following the GPS's voice. Heather snorted loudly from the backseat, and Hope smiled as she leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. She didn't think everything would ever be normal again, but at least for now, she relaxed slightly, relying on her instinct that she was safe here, with Dean.

The feeling vanished when she felt the car stop and heard Dean shift the car into park. She opened her eyes and blew out a nervous breath. At least her Dad was in Kansas City at some software convention or something. He'd never let her hear the end of this one if he found out.

"Thanks," Hope mumbled, opening the car door and trying to get out. She swayed on her feet, stumbling backward against the seat as she gripped the door handle for dear life.

"Wait, wait." Dean jumped out, jogging around the hood to catch her as she tried to stand again and collapsed into his arms, her face colliding with his chest. God, he smelled like heaven. "Come on." He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her bridal style up the front steps, and set her down on wobbly legs to unlock the door.

"Which way to your room?" he asked, picking her up again. Hope pointed up the stairs and then directed him toward her bedroom, pointing out Heather's room as they passed.

Dean kicked open her bedroom door, then set Hope on the edge of her bed. "Get some sleep, I'm gonna go help Sam with your sister."

Hope nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She stared at her bed, with its fluffy down comforter and seventeen puffy pillows, then shrugged out of Dean's jacket and stared down at herself. Her torn and missing clothes, her skin bruised and bleeding and streaked with blood, semen, and dirt. Her bed was a bed for a princess, and although she was almost thirty years old and wasn't a princess by any stretch of the imagination, after tonight, she knew with absolute certainty she no longer qualified.

Disgust, shame, and anger overwhelmed her, and she tore the remnants of the tank top off her body and stumbled into the bathroom that connected hers and Heather's bedrooms. She turned on the hot water as far as it would go, then pulled the lever for the shower and stepped inside. Heather groaned and mumbled from the other side of the wall, then a door slammed.

Hope dipped her head under the water, willing herself not to think, not to remember, but it was all right there as she closed her eyes. Well, most of it anyway. Some spots were blank, and she was a hundred percent convinced that the mosquito bite she'd felt on her neck was no bite at all,and she made a mental note to try and get a look at it in the mirror.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as images flashed in her memory like a possessed strobe light, hell-bent on making her crazy. Hope's body wracked with sobs as she sank to the floor, oblivious of the running water. Nothing mattered now; she'd been broken beyond repair. Everyone would just look at her with sad, pitiful eyes if they found out what happened, or worse, they'd assume she'd done something to provoke it. And Dean…

Oh, God, Dean. At least she'd never have to see him again after this. He and Sam both saved her, but she knew Dean would never see her as anything but somebody who got used and broken and then tossed aside. No, it would be best to forget about him altogether. Hope realized that feat would be near impossible as his shadow darkened her shower, and he stood gazing down at her with those Goddamn gorgeous eyes of his.

"What are you still doing here?" Her voice was a half croak, half sob, and sounded pathetic to her own ears. Fitting, she supposed, since that's what she was.

"I came back to get my jacket and I heard the shower. I wanted to make sure you're alright before we take off," Dean said, glancing around the jack and jill bath, looking for a towel.

"I'm fine," Hope growled through gritted teeth. The hot water had run out a few minutes before, and icy water pelted her back and shoulders now. Her whole body trembled, but she refused to move. Freezing to death was better than getting up and pretending nothing happened.

"Come on, I'll help you to bed." Dean grabbed the towel hanging behind the door, turned off the shower, and held the towel and hands out to her.

"I'm fucking fine," she snarled, backing away from him and pressing herself as flat as she could against the back of the shower. Dean took a step back, his hands up in surrender.

"Whatever you say, princess, but I'm not leaving until you get out of that shower." He said, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms and legs.

Hope growled, scowling at him as her shivering worsened. Who the Hell did he think he was? And what right did he have to make any kind of demand on her? She tried to curl into a tiny ball, but her limbs' uncontrollable movement made it difficult. "Fine," she hissed through chattering teeth as she stood up.

The tip of his tongue caught between Dean's teeth as she stood, and he held the towel out and tried to look anywhere but directly at her. Now was not the time to be admiring her figure, no matter what his downstairs brain said. Hope snatched the towel out of his hands and wrapped it around herself as she stepped out of the tub.

"There," she snapped. "Are you fucking happy now?" Dean glared at Hope as she stomped from the bathroom, crossing the room to her dresser, and pulled out an oversized nightshirt, jerking it angrily over her head as she let the towel drop to the floor. Dean flipped off the bathroom light and closed the door behind him as she bent and picked up the damp towel, wrapping it around her dripping hair.

Dean said nothing as she went to the side of her bed, yanking all of the pillows off the bed and chucking them in whatever direction she wanted as waves of righteous fury rolled off her, each carrying the fire of a thousand suns. Anger was good, he thought. Nothing short of rage was an appropriate reaction to what happened to her. Hope didn't stop with the pillows, though, and he watched in confusion as she stripped the down comforter and the sheets off the bed and tried to rip them to shreds with her bare hands.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked gently. Hope glared at him, her eyes wild, and for a moment, he wasn't even sure she saw him, and then she shifted her gaze to the sheet in her hand. She dropped it like it burned her, then wrapped herself in the fluffy comforter and curled up in the corner of her room next to the bay window.

"That bed is a princess bed," she muttered, pulling the comforter tighter around her chin. "I'm nobody's princess. Not anymore." She closed her eyes as the tears came again, but they were silent, slipping down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.

Dean crossed the room, sitting down on the floor next to Hope and leaning against the window seat as he stretched out his legs. As much as he wanted to escape this room, there was no possible way on earth he could leave her all alone, shattered as she was. "Well, guess what?" he said. Hope glared at him with narrowed eyes, and he shrugged, undeterred. "I'm no prince, so I guess we can just hang out on the floor here together."

Hope snorted but didn't say anything. Why the Hell was he even here? What did any of this matter to him? Hope shot a cautious glance in Dean's direction to see him tapping on his phone screen and the swoosh of a sent message. A few seconds later, his phone chimed with a response, and the rumble of car exhaust broke the neighborhood's silence as the Impala pulled away from the curb.

"Where's Sam going? And why are you still here?" Hope demanded as panic flooded her chest. What if Dean hurt her too? She told herself that was ridiculous; if Dean was going to attack her, he would have done it long before now. She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

"Hope, look at me." Hope ignored him, staring at her lap, and Dean sighed. "Fine, don't look at me, just listen. What happened to you tonight was probably the most horrible thing you will ever endure in your lifetime. I can't even begin to have an inkling of a clue what that was like, or what the next days, weeks, months, or Hell, even years are going to look like for you. I wish I could change what happened, but I can't. What I can do is be here with you right now so you know that no matter what, you're not alone. Just don't ever give up, alright? If you give up, those bastards win."

Hope nodded as a tear dripped from her nose. She sniffed and watched him out of the corner of her eye as he scooted closer to her and held out his arms, gesturing her to come closer. After a moment's hesitation, she settled herself beside him and rested her head on his shoulder as his arms went around her. He looked down at her and smiled, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

"You're beautiful, Hope. And strong. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise," He murmured as she pulled away to look at him. Overcome with an urge that she couldn't begin to understand, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a chaste peck on the lips at first, but then the floodgates opened. That kiss was like a spark to kindling, setting Hope's heart ablaze and leaving her breathless as she pulled away. Dean cleared his throat, unable to catch his own breath as he stared at her in startled confusion.

“Thank you.” Hope grinned at him, and neither of them spoke as she settled in close to him once again, resting her head on his shoulder, then closed her eyes as silence fell between them and before she knew it, she'd fallen sound asleep.

~~~~~

Over the next three months, Hope's life slowly returned to some semblance of normal after being tossed into the darkest pits of Hell. She saw or spoke to Dean every day, and even on the days she didn't have it in her, she faked a smile and told them she was fine, although she was almost sure they didn't believe her.

Her fingers moved with practiced surety as she closed the incision she’d made on her patient, and her mind wandered into territory she’d rather not think about. Her biggest problem now, she decided, was that she was hopelessly in love with Dean, and she was certain he didn't feel the same about her. How could he? She was a shattered shell of a woman, and he was, well, him. It occurred to her now, as she knotted the last stitch, that in all the hours they'd spent together, he still never said much about himself, or Sam. Content, it seemed, to let her ramble on about anything and everything. He always had the courtesy to look like he was listening, but deep down, nothing could convince Hope that Dean actually gave a damn about anything she said.

Hope stepped out of the operating room, headed for the staff room for a short break when she heard her name crackle over the intercom. "Doctor Bennett to the E.R. nurses station." Hope turned, running down the hallway in the opposite direction of the staff room.

"I'm here, what is it?" Hope panted, taking gulps of air as the nurse pointed to the bench between the elevators. Dean sat there, drumming his fingers on his knees and keeping a watchful eye as people passed. She stifled a smile then made her way over to him.

"What are you doing here?" She said, unable to contain her smile at the sight of him. He flashed her a shy smile in return, standing up to greet her.

"I was hoping you could talk for a few minutes. There's something I need to tell you." Hope's smile faded at the seriousness in his tone, and she nodded.

"Sure, I'll meet you in the cafeteria in ten minutes. Will that work?" Dean nodded, pressing the elevator button as Hope patted his arm and walked away.

Hope walked back toward the nurses' station, confused about what Dean could possibly have to tell her that was so serious. She finished charting on her last patient, then told Loretta, Hope's scrub nurse, that she was headed toward the cafeteria. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Loretta chirped, flashing Hope with a mischievous grin.

Hope laughed, shaking her head. "Bite me, Loretta. It's not like that, and you know it."

"Oh honey, I do know it, but I'll be damned if I _understand_ it. That man is gorgeous, and it's obvious he's into you, but you insist the two of you aren't dating. What gives? Are you not into men, is that it? No judgement, I just want to know if he's fair game."

"It's complicated," Hope sighed, walking away from the nurses' station before calling back over her shoulder to Loretta. "Behave while I'm upstairs, will you? I'll be back in twenty minutes or so."

"No promises, honey. No promises." Hope grinned at Loretta as the elevator doors closed, shaking her head in amusement.

She was still smiling to herself when she stepped off the elevator and entered the cafeteria. Dean sat alone at a table near the opposite corner of the expansive space, nursing a cup of coffee—black, two sugars, most likely. Hope shook her head, now was not the time to be remembering random things that didn't matter.

She took a deep breath, then crossed the room and sat down across from her. "Hey," she said brightly, a broad smile creasing her features.

"Hey." Dean didn't smile; he just spun his phone on the table and avoided her gaze. How the Hell was he supposed to show her the video of what they'd done? Hope was doing so well after what happened that night at the river, and seeing this would break her heart and probably make her hate him forever. He wondered for possibly the millionth time if getting this close to her was necessary for the case, but Sam had insisted it was. The creature they'd hunted was a sly fox, a Kitsune, much easier to kill if they didn't see the attack coming.

Dean mentally cursed himself for letting his feelings get involved in this thing at all, but after everything, it was almost impossible to do anything else. Hope was smart, funny, beautiful and above everything else, she was a fighter. He imagined that most people would fall apart after what she’d been through, but not Hope. He couldn’t help but love her for that, because he understood it better than anyone. He was just glad she had no clue how deep his feelings really were for her because if she did...well, he couldn't afford to think about what that would look like. "There's, uh, something I need to show you. Don't freak out, okay?"

"What? Dean, you're scaring me. What is going on?" Hope stared at him, wide-eyed as her heart lodged in her throat. Whatever it was, he obviously didn't want her to see it, which meant it was serious. This was it, then, then end. She knew it would come sooner or later, he’d tell her that he was moving on and to have a nice life. Hope braced herself for whatever she thought was coming, but what came next wasn't even on her radar.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, and it spiked in all directions like an adorable, fluffy hedgehog. Usually, Hope would have commented on it, but now didn't seem like the time. He ran a hand down the length of his face, scratching absently at his stubbled jawline before taking a deep breath and turning the phone toward her. He pressed the play icon on the screen and waited.

Hope sat frozen in place, watching the video in silent horror. When it ended, she looked up at him, her expression a mixture of shock, fear, and fury. "What the fuck, Dean? Is this some kind of joke?" Hope hissed, trying and failing to keep her voice down.

"Oh, sweetheart, I wish it were a joke. This whole thing would be so much easier if it was an elaborate practical joke. You know, everyone gets a little scare, we have a few laughs and we all walk away as friends. This ain't that. Your father was a monster, Hope, literally. And from what we figured out, so is Heather, although she seems to be coping with it better than him. He was murdering preteens and eating their brains. He had to be stopped, and that's what me and Sam do. We stop the monsters and keep innocent people safe."

Hope swallowed, staring at the still image on Dean's phone of him stabbing her father in the heart and Heather running for her life, only it wasn't her father and Heather anymore; they'd morphed into something grotesque and inhuman. She shook her head, unable to believe the undeniable proof laying on the table right in front of her. "Where's Heather now?"

"We don't know. Sam is out looking for her, but she's most likely gone into hiding, especially now that she knows we're after her. She won't come back home, and she won't stay in one place very long." He braced himself for what came next, not ready to face the end.

Tears filled Hope's eyes, slipping silently down her cheeks as his words hit her like an oncoming train. Her father was dead, her sister was gone, and they were both some sort of brain-eating monsters? "So let me get this straight, my if dad and sister are both these brain eating freaks, what am I? What was my mom?"

"As far as Sam and I can tell, you're human, and your mom was too. We do think your Dad may have had something to do with her death though, but we can't exactly prove it because he had her cremated."

Hope wiped her cheeks and leaned back in the chair, her arms crossed against her middle, suddenly feeling nauseous. "I see. So was all of this, us being friends, just an act to get closer to my family?"

Dean grimaced, not answering right away. The short answer was one-hundred percent yes, but the long answer was so much more complicated than that. That answer was the one Hope deserved, but not the one he'd give her. Instead, he just did what he always did, shoving all of the emotional crap down into some deep dark hole of his psyche, never to see the light of day again. "Look, it ain't personal. You're great and all, but in the end it was always just a job for me. I'm sorry if you thought of me as anything other than a temporary fix for your fucked up little life."

_God, what the Hell am I saying? Please forgive me, Hope._

"Oh my God. I knew it. I am so stupid. On some level, I knew. I didn't want to, but deep down, I did. I knew there's no way you'd ever want to be with someone like me. Not after what you saw that night." Hope covered her face with her hands, chuckling incredulously as tears stung the corners of her eyes again.

_You're wrong; I'd do almost anything to stay here with you._

"Yeah, well. It is what it is." Dean was sure everyone in the cafeteria could hear his heart shattering inside his chest, but everyone continued on with their lives like nothing was happening, so he did too. Hope went eerily quiet, her jaw muscles twitching as she gave him a look that could freeze Hell in a nanosecond.

"You know what?" Hope said, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat. She wasn't about to let a single tear fall over Dean fucking Winchester. She'd cried enough tears over the asshats that tried to break her, and she was beyond done. Dean stared at her, forcing himself to wear the smirk he reserved for law enforcement, the one that said, "nothing you say matters, because I don't give a shit."

Hope shook her head, then got up, slamming the chair into the table. "Go fuck yourself, Dean. Get the Hell out of my life, and stay away from my sister. I don't want to see you ever again." She turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Once I leave here you'll never see me again, and I'll forget you ever existed." Hope paused for a moment but didn't turn around. If she had, she might not have missed the poorly concealed anguish on Dean's face as he hurled the words at her. She forced herself to keep moving forward, even though icy fingers wrapped themselves around her heart, squeezing and grinding it until there was nothing left.

_I love you, Hope, and I’ll never forget you, not ever._

Hope stomped back to the elevator, muttering and cursing under her breath as she passed people, some of them gaping in horror as they picked up snippets of her mumbling. She didn't care; in fact, she dared some of them to say something, anything to her right now. Oooh, how she'd make them all regret it if they did. She stepped onto the elevator, mashing the button for the emergency room floor, and took several deep, cleansing breaths as she waited for the elevator to reach its destination.

When she stepped off the elevator, Loretta was smirking at her from the nurses' station. "So, how did your lunch rendezvous with your lover boy go?" she asked coyly.

Hope glared at her, her eyes glistening with furious, unshed tears. "Don't ever fucking mention that asshole to me again. Do I make myself clear?"

Loretta winced, her coy smile melting instantly. Unsure what to make of Hope's change in attitude, but she'd seen Hope angry enough times to know that whatever this was, it was so much more than just anger. "Crystal, sweetheart. Do you need a minute?" Hope nodded, and without a word, turned on her heel and bolted toward the staff lounge.


	3. Whiskey Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning for this chapter: Depressive Spiral/Suicide attempt.** Once again, I don't think it's overly graphic, but it's there, so you've been warned.

Tears stung the corners of Dean's eyes as he watched Hope walk away. He picked up his coffee cup, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head, muttering curses under his breath as he took another sip. As he wrestled to get his emotions under control, he wondered for a moment if he'd call it murder or therapy when he strangled Sam. He swore one of these days he'd figure out a way to leave his heart out of the job, but even as the thought left him, he knew it would never be true. His heart was why he still did the job, why he'd given up the idea of having any kind of life other than hunting, no matter how much it hurt him.

He drained the paper cup as he stood up from the table, crushing it in his hand and tossing it into a nearby trash can. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath, forcing himself to leave the hospital and go back to his car instead of going upstairs to try to talk to Hope one more time. What the hell could he say to her now that would make any of this better?

When he got back to the motel, he pulled the half-full bottle of whiskey out of the trunk before he went inside the room, slamming the door behind him. Sam wasn't back yet, so Dean dropped the bottle down on the table with a thud and pulled his phone from his back pocket to read a new message from Sam. "Heather's disappeared. Headed back to motel now." Dean growled, slamming the phone closed and started to throw it against the wall, but dropped it on the table next to the whiskey bottle instead. 

He collapsed into the chair, spinning the cap off the bottle with his thumb, skipping the cup altogether, he leaned back and took a long drink. After what he'd just done, he didn't have the will to pace himself right now. He set the bottle back on the table, turning it idly while his mind played through the last few months, and all of his inner demons crawled out of the shadows to play. Why on earth had he let Sam talk him into spending so much time with Hope? It was almost as if Sam _wanted_ this. That couldn't be right, though, not really. Even if Sam _did_ want to cause Dean pain, he never would've wanted to break Hope's heart. 

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it as he took another drink from the bottle, then another, until the anguished memory of Hope staring at him, eyes filled with sadness and pain, was nothing more than a dull ache. When the bottle was empty, he set it on the table in front of him, staring at it as though he didn't know how it got that way, then he picked it up and hurled it toward the wall.

Sam opened the door and stepped inside just as the empty whiskey bottle whizzed by his head, shattering against the wall next to him. He glanced from the wall to Dean, who regarded him with a glassy thousand-yard stare. Great. Sam shut the door, then crossed the room and sat down on the edge of one bed. 

"So," he said, grimacing as he continued. "How did it go with Hope?" It was a stupid question, and Sam knew it, the look in Dean's eyes and the shattered whiskey bottle told him everything he needed to know, but somehow, he had to start the conversation. 

"Really, Sam?" Dean glared at him through the whiskey haze, finding it harder to focus than he expected. "How the hell do you think it went? She hates us." Then, he stared through the yellowing curtains out the dirty window, watching the flickering yellow light on the pole outside as it struggled to drive away the shadows in the parking lot. His voice dropped to a whisper, and he added, "She hates me."

Sam swallowed, trying to ignore the torment in Dean's words, words Sam wasn't even sure he'd intended to say. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I know that was hard." It was true, leaving people behind was always the most challenging part of finishing a job, second only to being unable to save someone.

"Are you, Sam?" Dean glared at him, balling up his fists and pressing them into his thighs. "Then how about this, next time I'll chase after the runaway monster and you can break the girl's heart? Sound good?" 

Sam stared at him, an apologetic frown furrowing his brows. No matter what Dean thought, Sam didn't enjoy seeing Dean hurt. They were always a little down after a job ended, but this wasn't just the usual end-of-job emotions, this was heartbreak, and Sam could only think of one reason for it. 

"I really am sorry, Dean. Did she know?" Silence filled the space between them as Sam held his brother's gaze, refusing to let Dean escape into the oblivion he craved until he admitted it. Which, Sam was well aware, could take a while. The world could build monuments to Dean's stubbornness when it came to admitting his true feelings about anything. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean made a face at Sam, then turned his attention back out the window again. "Did she know what? I told her everything about her Dad and Heather."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Dean snorted, and Sam sighed, pulled off his jacket, and laid it on the bed next to him before trying again. "Did she know you're in love with her?"

Dean's head snapped back in Sam's direction as he gave him the same icy glare he'd seen from Hope a few hours before. "What the hell are you talking about?” he repeated. “I'm not in love with her. That's not what this is, Sam."

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he flopped back onto the bed and stared at the mirrored ceiling. Yep, this was going to take a while. "Alright, Dean, tell me what it is then. Inquiring minds want to know." Dean tried to come up with something, anything else to say, but the whiskey had done its job and done it well, and nothing came to mind. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Sam's gaze. 

"Shut up, Sam. We're not talking about this. It doesn't matter, what's done is done, and it's time to move on." _Never gonna happen._

"It's really not that complicated, because I'm not in love with her." _Yes, I am._

"That would be stupid." _And I am the stupidest man alive, apparently._

Dean shook his head. Was it opposite day today? Maybe he should be on the lookout for a trickster; at least that could explain why every word he said contradicted his mind's thoughts. 

"Dean—" Sam started to argue, but Dean silenced him with a look. 

"Drop it, Sam. Please." 

Silence fell between them as Sam heeded the note of warning in Dean's voice. The last thing that he wanted to do was let this go. He'd seen how Dean looked at Hope when he thought no one was looking, and sometimes he wondered if Dean knew that Hope looked at him the same way. What the hell could Sam do about it, though? It wasn't his life, and if Dean wanted to throw away everything he ever wanted because he was too stubborn to admit his feelings, it wasn't like Sam could stop him. He tried before, and it never ended well. He sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "Fine, but for what it's worth, I think she's good for you. Anyway, are you hungry? I'm starving."

~~~~~~

Hope slammed the door to the staff room behind her, rolling through the long space like a brewing thunderstorm until she reached an empty cot in the corner. The other three first-year residents shot her incredulous stares as she passed, trying to decide whether to stay or go. Hope gave them all withering looks, and they vacated the room, unwilling to endure the legendary wrath of Hope Bennett.

She flopped onto the cot, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes as the tears finally fell. Cursing herself, she wiped them angrily away as she bounced the back of her head against the concrete wall. Hope sat there for a long time, convincing herself that the whole ordeal was Dean's fault. Her shattered psyche couldn't even entertain the possibility of anything else, even though she'd been the one to actually say the words, 'go fuck yourself,' not him. What Dean _had_ said hadn't been much better, but he hadn't gone that far either. So what was she going to do now?

Hope slid down the wall sideways, curling up in the fetal position on the cot as sobs wracked her body and her tears soaked the scratchy hospital pillow beneath her head. She didn't think she had any tears left to cry, but her body proved her wrong. Memories of the night they met flooded her mind, and she tried to force herself to think of _anything_ else. Why had she even talked to him then? She knew without a doubt before he ever spoke a word to her that he'd never love her. No one but her family ever had, so why would Dean Winchester be any different? 

_If you hadn't talked to him, he couldn't have saved you_ , said a little voice somewhere in the vicinity of her conscience. Hope loathed that voice, always so logical and calculating. While what it said was technically correct, if she hadn't gone to that stupid party in the first place, she never would have met Dean, and she damn sure wouldn't be surviving the aftermath of being viciously raped. As far as Hope was concerned, that little logical voice could go deepthroat a cactus. 

The staff room door opened, and someone entered, the door clicking closed behind them. Hope thought about lifting her head but decided she was too exhausted to care. Nothing mattered now, not really. It might matter in the morning, but the morning was too far away to concern herself with now. 

"Hope?" Loretta said, walking toward the cot. "Dr. Bennett? Are you alright?"

Hope rolled her eyes behind her eyelids, then sat up with a heavy sigh, wiping her face on the sleeve of her scrubs. "I'm fine, Loretta. I promise." Hope gave her a weak-smile, praying that Loretta would go back to the nurse's station and leave her the hell alone.

"Honey, you are the farthest thing from fine. What happened between you and lover boy?" Loretta patted Hope's foot, and she obediently made room for the older woman to sit on the cot next to her. 

"I don't want to talk about it." Hope looked away, staring at the wall and willing the tears to not come again. 

"Alright," Loretta said, patting Hope's knee. "You don't have to talk, but I want you to listen."

Hope grunted, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "So help me, Loretta, if you're about to give me the 'there are other fish in the sea' speech…" Her voice trailed off as she scowled, resting her chin on her knees. 

"No, smartass. That's not what I was going to say." Loretta frowned at Hope, but she ignored her. "What I was going to say was, I don't know what happened between you two, but I do know that relationships of any kind go through rough spots, but you don't just give up when they get hard. You fight for them, sweetheart, and when you find someone that makes you happy, you grab on and you don't let go."

"This wasn't just some 'rough patch,' Loretta," Hope said, sniffing as she lifted her head. "He was only around because he needed my help with something he was working on. What happened in the cafeteria was him telling me he got what he wanted and it was over. Whatever 'it' might have been."

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." Loretta paused, throwing an arm across Hope's hunched shoulders. "If it makes you feel any better, he was lying to you."

Hope stared at Loretta in slack-jawed confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hope, you are going to be a brilliant trauma surgeon one day, I can feel it in my bones. But, please don't take this the wrong way, but you are deaf, dumb, and blind when it comes to people. Especially people that are clearly head over heels in love with you."

Loretta smirked at the blush that crept up Hope's neck and ears, and Hope tried to bury her face by resting her forehead on her knees. "It's not true, there's no way he could ever love me," Hope said finally. 

Loretta scoffed, then rolled her eyes. "And just why is that? Why is it you believe he couldn't love you? Other than if he was a raging narcissist incapable of loving anyone but himself, which news flash, he wasn't."

"Because," Hope licked her sandpaper lips, her pulse quickening in her ears. Was she really going to tell Loretta what happened the night she met Dean? She'd never told anyone, not even Heather, what happened that night. The only two people other than her that knew just walked out of her life forever. Hope shook her head. No, she'd take that secret all the way to her grave and beyond. "Nothing, never mind. We're just not right for each other, end of story."

"Mm hmm," Loretta hummed, studying Hope. She was clearly hiding something painful, but Loretta had no idea whether the pain was because of Dean or something else. She did know that forcing Hope to talk about something she clearly wanted to leave alone would not work out well for Loretta. "Alright, well I'm here if you need to talk—"

The crackle of the hospital intercom interrupted Loretta's next words. "Doctor Bennett to E.R. bed 3, Doctor Bennett to E.R. bed 3." 

"Damn it!" Hope cried as she leaped off the bed and bolted for the door. "That's my Winchester patient. What the hell happened to him now?" 

Loretta stared after Hope, confused. "Winchester patient?" she muttered, following Hope from the room, chasing her down the hallway at a full run. She didn't catch up to her until Hope reached her destination, but by then, Hope was already busy under the chief surgeon, Dr. Rossen's watchful eye, barking orders as she worked to save her patient.

Once the patient stabilized, Hope disappeared out of the room before Loretta could catch her. What the hell was going on with that girl? Loretta shook her head and headed back to the nurse's station. Hope would come around eventually, or she wouldn't, but Loretta had work to do right now.

Hope sat in a chair near the tiny break room's corner, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on them as she took shallow, gasping breaths. Her heart raced, and she could see the thumping of her pulse at her wrists. The room seemed to spin and sway when she tried to lift her head, and she dropped it back to her knees. Out of habit, Hope fished her phone from her scrub pocket, her finger pausing over Dean's name in her contacts list. 

Dean was always there when she needed him, which, if she was honest, was a lot more than she liked. He knew exactly what to say to calm her and could talk her down from the highest ledges or bring her up from the deepest lows. Hope never could get him to tell her how he knew just what to say to her when it felt like the world went topsy-turvy, but she decided, in the end, it didn't matter. Now that he was gone, she’d have to find some other way to cope.

Hope gritted her teeth, then let out a soft sob as she deleted both Dean and Sam's contacts from her phone. At least that way, there'd be no more temptation to call or text either of them. She never wanted to see Dean Winchester again, she reminded herself, so there was no reason to hold on to his number. Taking another deep, steadying breath, Hope stood up from the chair and went back to work.

~~~~~

_**Six Months Later** _

Hope growled, knocking over the almost empty whiskey bottle precariously perched on the table's corner, as she slapped at the alarm on the bedside table while the ear-splitting song of its people filled her room. "Uggghhh," she moaned, pressing a hand to the side of her head as she buried her face in the pillow. 

Hope lifted her head and peered over the edge of the bed, reaching clumsily for the bottle. Hadn't it been full the night before? She couldn't remember, and if she was honest, she didn't care much. At least she wasn't dreaming about that night or Dean's stupid, beautiful face. On the outside, she made sure she seemed to be coping just fine. Loretta made sure that no one asked about Dean, and Hope pretended like she had her shit together. It was a win-win situation, she told herself over and over again.

Giving up on reaching the bottle, Hope rolled over on her back, fanning her tousled hair around her on the pillow as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Her head throbbed, just like always, and once again, she swore she'd never touch another bottle. _You're a dirty, rotten liar,_ the little voice in her head whispered, and she closed her eyes, willing it to shut up.

The alarm blared again, and Hope's eyes flew open as her whole body jerked in response to the sound. "Son of a bitch!" She sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed the offending device in both hands, ripping the cord from the wall as she launched it across the room. It smashed against the opposite wall and shattered into several pieces. "Shut the fuck up!"

Shit, that was the third one she'd destroyed this month. "Great job, Hope. Now you gotta go buy an alarm clock _and_ more whiskey." Hope shook her head, forcing herself to stand on wobbly legs as she made her way to the bathroom. 

_I thought you said you were never drinking again,_ came the little voice. "You shut the hell up, nobody asked you," Hope muttered to herself as she turned on the shower and willed herself not to think about that night as she undressed and stepped into the tub. 

Hope wrapped a towel around herself, teetering back toward the bed and perching her butt on the side as she reached for the bottle on the floor. She popped a couple pain relievers, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey, then dressed and made her way slowly downstairs. 

Hope pressed the button on the coffee pot, then flopped into one of the dining chairs as she waited for it to finish brewing, trying to ignore all the empty bottles of alcohol scattered around the kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief as the coffee finished, and she poured it into a mug and left the kitchen to escape the kitchen's accusing mess. 

She curled up on one corner of the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table where several more bottles of alcohol sat, each one of varying fullness. Hope dropped the remote and closed her eyes instead, leaning back and taking a sip of her coffee. She wasn't an alcoholic, she told herself for the millionth time; she only drank to be able to sleep without dreaming because that's all she wanted. One night of sleep without nightmares, was that too fucking much to ask?

_Dirty. Rotten. Liar._

The muffled sound of her ringing cell phone caught her attention, and she set the cup down on the end table, then tore the cushions off the couch, looking for her phone. Frustrated, she dropped to her knees, feeling along the couch's underside and closing her fumbling fingers around the phone. She slid her finger across the screen, not really looking to see who it was as she pressed it to her ear.

"Bennett." Hope prayed she didn't sound as hungover as she was, just in case it happened to be the hospital. 

"Hope?" Dr. Rossen's voice crackled through the receiver. "Are you alright? You sound sick."

Dammit.

"I'm fine," Hope lied, clearing her throat. "I just woke up." She reached for her coffee, praying he wasn't calling for the reason she thought he was.

"Oh, okay. I'm glad to hear that." He paused as though trying to find the right words. "Look, I hate to ask, because I know this is your first day off in a couple of weeks, but Dr. Rickson is out with the stomach flu today. Can you come in and cover the E.R.?"

_That unreliable son of a—_ "Sure," Hope said through gritted teeth. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Thanks, Hope. I knew I could count on you." 

_Go screw yourself with a cactus._ "No problem," Hope said with a fake smile as she rolled her eyes so hard she could almost see her brain. "I'll see you soon."

Hope disconnected the call, letting out a half-sigh, half-growl as she trudged back upstairs, her coffee forgotten on the end table. She muttered curses the whole time she got ready to leave and was still muttering to herself as she reached the emergency room entrance fifteen minutes later. She took a deep breath, pasting on the fakest smile she could muster as she squared her shoulders, and walked inside.

The day passed as smoothly as one possibly could for an emergency room, and Hope's mood improved dramatically after a few hours. Her personal life might be a royal shitshow, but Hope was home in an emergency room. At least there she had the illusion of controlling something, where it was impossible to control her own mind sometimes.

Hope made her end of shift rounds, then retreated to the staff room to finish charting in relative solitude. She glanced up at the door as Loretta burst into the room, her eyes darting wildly around, searching for Hope. At the same time, the hospital intercom speaker crackled, summoning Hope back to the E.R. nurse's station. Loretta nodded and disappeared out the door without a word.

"Shit," Hope said, snapping the chart closed. She picked it up from the table and followed Loretta, dropping it off at the nurse's station as two paramedics rolled a gurney past her. Hope fell into step with them, listening intently as they reported the patient's status.

"Twenty-eight year old male, multiple stab wounds to the chest and torso, b.p. eighty over sixty and falling," one paramedic said.

Hope nodded, raising the patient's hand to get a pulse, calling out to Loretta over her shoulder. "Loretta, prep O.R. room two. Do it now." Hope spun the heavy chain bracelet on the patient's hand, thinking it was a medical I.D., and her blood froze in her veins. She coughed, sputtering, and losing count of his pulse.

The bracelet was engraved with a fraternity organization marker, the same one that she sometimes saw in the flashes of memory that returned from that night. Hope stared at his face, willing herself to remember what her attackers looked like. For the most part, her brain had blurred the details of her attackers' faces, blending them all together until they formed one indistinguishable mass. Hope assumed it was a trauma response to keep her from going _completely_ bat-shit crazy. 

Now, as their faces become clear in her mind, she took a step back from the gurney. It was him. The walls closed in around her as her heart raced so fast she thought it might explode out of her chest. All of the air left the room, and she gasped and clutched at the walls to steady herself. The paramedics glanced at her in confusion, but she waved them on. They shrugged then followed Loretta through the double doors to the operating room. Hope turned and tried to go in the opposite direction, running face-first into Dr. Rossen. 

"Where are you going? The operating room is that way." He gestured to the doors behind her, and she scowled at him.

"I'm aware," Hope snapped, "but I'm not operating on that patient. The son of a bitch can die for all I care. I hope he rots in hell."

"You don't get to make that decision, Hope, and you know it. Now, get your ass in there and do your damn job, or I'll find someone who will. Do I make myself clear?" Dr. Rossen glared down at her, and Hope swallowed hard, unable to believe what she was about to do.

"I don't give a shit, I won't be a part of saving him. He doesn't deserve it after what he did. Fire me or whatever, but I refuse." Hope glared back at him, shoving her trembling hands in her lab coat's pockets to hide them. What she wouldn't give to be swimming in whiskey right about now.

"What the hell has gotten into you, Bennett?" Dr. Rossen demanded, tilting his head to one side as he studied her. Hope didn't back down as she bit back a scathing retort. "Are you really going to throw everything you've worked so hard for away because of some perceived crime?"

"Perceived crime!?" Hope shrieked, taking a step backward. "Are you kidding me!? That shitstain and his buddies fucking raped me!" She clapped her hands over her mouth as the E.R.'s dull roar fell into a dead silence. Hope's face turned scarlet as she stared at Dr. Rossen, wishing she would have just died that night in the clearing nine months ago. Why did she think she'd be able to pick up the pieces of her life and move on like nothing happened?

Dr. Rossen cleared his throat, turning toward another first-year resident—Alex, Alec, something. Hope couldn't remember his name, and she didn't really care to learn it. "You—scrub in for surgery in O.R. two."

The resident stared at him, slack-jawed as Dr. Rossen glared at him. "Are you deaf? I said do it!" The resident nodded, racing down the hallway. Dr. Rossen looked around, glowering at the rest of the staff who were trying not to stare as Hope stood frozen in place. 

"The rest of you, get back to work. Now!" 

The dull roar resumed as though someone had unmuted the room, and Dr. Rossen reached out and took Hope by the elbow. She spun out of his grasp, her eyes wild.

"Don't fucking touch me," she growled. Dr. Rossen nodded, then motioned for her to follow him as he headed toward his office. Hope followed obediently, her eyes glued to the ground as she passed the nurse's station. 

Loretta gazed at Hope with soft eyes, wondering how she couldn't see what was happening to her. She'd known without a doubt Hope was holding herself together with safety pins and sewing thread, but Loretta thought it had to do with whatever happened between Hope and Dean. Hope never mentioned him again after their talk that day, and Loretta was not about to bring up the subject. How was she supposed to know it was so much deeper than that?

~~~~~

Dr. Rossen entered his office, motioning for Hope to close the door. She did, then took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. He gave Hope a soft look, his eyes filled with pity.

"Don't," Hope snapped, avoiding his gaze. "This is exactly why I didn't say anything. I didn't want everyone looking at me like you are right now."

"Hope," Dr. Rossen said, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on the desk. "You've been coming apart at the seams for a while now. You're belligerent and snarky on a good day, and on the bad ones—" He let out a low whistle and shook his head. "And right now, you smell like a bar. Were you drunk when you came in today?"

"No," Hope snapped, glaring at him. "I was drunk last night. I'm hungover, there's a difference. And technically, I wasn't even supposed to be here. _You called me in today, remember? It was supposed to be my day off."_

"I'm aware," Dr. Rossen sighed. "It's just—this isn't the first time in the last several months you've shown up hungover for a shift. Hope, you're losing control, and if you don't do something soon, it's going to cost you everything."

"So what? It's not like any of it matters anyway." Tears sprang to Hope's eyes, and she cursed herself for being so pathetic. For a moment, her resolve to never see or speak to Dean again wavered, and she wished she hadn't deleted his number from her phone. He was the only one she knew who could pull her off this carousel of self-destruction she was currently on, but he was gone forever now; he'd probably already forgotten her completely.

_That's because he didn't love you either. Nobody loves you, Hope, no one ever did. You're a pathetic, ruined waste of space. It's your fault you got attacked; and now no one will ever want you._

Hope stifled a scream as the voice echoed inside her head, sounding suspiciously like her father. She needed a drink; needed to drown that bastard inner voice in a whiskey and vodka river. Her life would be _perfect_ if everyone would just leave her the fuck alone and let her self-destruct in peace. 

"It does matter, Hope," Dr. Rossen said, picking up a pen and scribbling something on a notepad. He tore the page free, holding it out to her. "Your pain matters, and if you don't acknowledge it, it will destroy you. Take this."

Hope took the slip of paper, glancing down at a name and phone number. "What is this?" 

"A therapist. She's a good friend of mine, and she specializes in counseling rape survivors." he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hope scoffed, dropping the slip of paper onto the desk. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't need some damn shrink rooting around in my head and making shit worse. I'm fine." Hope stood up to leave, freezing in place when Dr. Rossen spoke again. 

"You're not fine, and it's not a request. You'll either go see her, or you're dismissed from your residency. It's your choice, Hope. Choose wisely." 

Hope scowled at him, her eyes narrowed to near slits. Who the hell did he think he was, her father? She bit her tongue to stifle a snarky remark, then snatched the paper from the desk and shoved it in the pocket of her lab coat. He stared after her, shaking his head as Hope turned on her heel and left the room without a word.

Hope didn't speak to anyone as she left the hospital and hurried home. She shoved her front door open, stripping off her lab coat and tossing it haphazardly over the coat rack, then wandered into her living room and picked up the half-full vodka bottle next to the remote. She took a long drink, closing her eyes as she swallowed. The vodka burned going down, but it wasn't nearly as pleasurable as the whiskey, and she dropped the bottle back onto the table. 

She picked up the remote, flipping through the channels until she found some sappy, hundred-year-old classic movie. Hope wasn't really a fan, but her mother had loved them, so they held a special place in Hope's heart. She dropped the remote onto the table, reaching for the bottle again as she lay down on the couch and stared blankly at the T.V., drinking until the bottle was empty.

Hope woke from a nightmare around eight the next morning, realizing she'd passed out at some point. Her mouth tasted like she imagined a newspaper left out in the rain might taste like, and she sat up, grunting as the room spun around her. God, she just wanted to die; was that too much to ask? She picked up the now empty bottle of vodka, smashing it on the top of the coffee table.

The glass shattered, and Hope stared at it intently, picking up a long jagged piece. Gripping it in one hand, she sliced it down the length of one wrist. Blood streamed from the wound, pouring out in a sanguine river as she opened the vein. Tears streamed down her face as she lay back on the couch, waiting to descend into oblivion. 

_"Don't ever give up. If you give up, those bastards win."_ Hope's eyes snapped open as Dean's voice faded from her mind, and she gawked at her bleeding wrist in horror. What the hell had she done? She stood up, swaying on her feet, both from alcohol and blood loss, then stumbled across the hallway to her office where she kept her medical kit. 

She fumbled around one-handed for the things she needed, then took a steadying breath as she sewed up the gaping wound on her arm. Tears streamed down her face as she took hissing breaths through her teeth, fighting through the pain as she stitched, tying off the last stitch with her teeth and wrapping it up in gauze. 

Hope leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, counting the thumping of her pulse beneath the closed wound. The raw nerve endings sent jolts of electricity up her arm, and she gritted her teeth against the pain as she stood up and retrieved the slip of paper Dr. Rossen gave her from her lab coat. She sank down onto the couch and punched the number into her phone, pressed send with a trembling finger. It rang three times, then a motherly voice answered. "Lawrence Therapy Center, Dr. Allen speaking."


	4. The Memory Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope tries to get help for her trauma and gets a little help in unexpected ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this chapter! Yay!

_**One Year Later** _

"Ugh, this is stupid," Hope complained, opening her eyes with a frustrated sigh. She stared at Dr. Allen, who sat in a leather chair across from her. "Isn't the whole point of meditation to not think?"

"No, Hope, the point of meditation is to acknowledge your thoughts, but not react to them," Dr. Allen replied, making a note on her pad. "You have to acknowledge your negative thoughts before you can begin to understand why you have them. Now, try again."

Hope sighed, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes again. She tried to focus on her breathing, but her mind kept wandering in circles, and it was making her dizzy. After about five minutes, Hope gave up and opened her eyes. "I can't do this. Meditation isn't going to work for me, Doc. I'd rather take some damn pills."

"I'm not prescribing you pills until you stop drinking, and even then I'm not comfortable with it. Have you cut back like we talked about?" Dr. Allen tilted her head, studying Hope's micro-expressions as she answered.

"Yes," Hope lied. "I only have three drinks now. I used to have five."

"Is that three drinks a day? Three drinks an hour? What?"

"Yes?" Hope said, staring at her hands to avoid the look of disappointment on Dr. Allen's face. She'd been under the doctor's care for a year now, and after several months of intense therapy sessions, the only progress Hope made was that she no longer wanted to _try_ to die. It didn't mean that she necessarily felt too much like living either. Still, she kept showing up to the appointments because doing so was the only thing standing between her and losing her residency at the hospital.

Dr. Allen rolled her eyes regarding Hope with a stern look. "Why are you self-sabotaging, Hope?"

Hope shrugged, still avoiding the other woman's gaze. "Daddy didn't love me enough, I guess." God, Dr. Rossen was right; she had become a snarky bitch since that night.

"Very funny." Dr. Allen sighed, pursing her lips. "You know, you've been in my office twice a week for a year now, and yet you still refuse to approach the topic of what happened at the bonfire party."

"I don't want to talk about it, Doc. I've had to live it every day for almost two years. Talking about it won't change what happened, and it won't make the nightmares stop, so what's the point?"

"The point, my dear, is to tear down the walls you've built to protect yourself from the world and start actually living again." Dr. Allen glanced at her watch, then made another note on her pad.

Hope frowned, examining her cuticles. "Bold of you to assume I was living before," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Allen said, leaning forward in the chair, "What was that?"

Hope sighed. Dammit, she'd opened her big fat mouth, and now she was actually going to have to talk about her bullshit problems. Fine, the good Doctor wanted to talk; she could talk. "I said," Hope raised her voice, "Bold of you to assume I was living before."

"And why was that?"

Hope tried, she really did, but she couldn't stop the eye roll before it was too late. Dr. Allen frowned at her but said nothing, waiting patiently for an answer. "Oh, I dunno, Doc. Maybe eight grueling years of med school left me devoid of anything resembling human emotions, and I forgot how to interact with people on any type of non-superficial level. Maybe it's because my mom died, my dad was—" Hope almost said 'murdered' but caught herself at the last second.

"My dad died three months after I was raped, and my sister is gone, I haven't heard from her in almost two years. I have no friends; no family to speak of. I'm this broken shell of a person and that's because of some frat boy son of a bitch that couldn't even have the good decency to die when his girlfriend stabbed him for cheating on her. I've only ever been in love once, and because I'm _so_ pathetic, I fell for someone who couldn't love me back, and now he's gone too."

Hope stopped, unable to believe all of that came out of her. She was pretty sure that was the most number of words she'd ever spoken during a session. Hope buried her face in her hands, unsure of what to expect next and regretted opening her mouth at all.

"Tell me about the person you were in love with," Dr. Allen said. In the past year, Hope hadn't mentioned being in love at all. Hope hadn't spoken much at all, really, and it made it difficult to make any genuine progress with her healing. Healing from something as traumatic as Hope's experience would take longer, but Dr. Allen was a patient woman.

"There's nothing to tell," Hope snapped, staring at the floor. _Other than I still dream of him almost every night, and no amount of alcohol drives the memory of him away._ "I fell in love, he didn't, end of story."

"And you know that for sure? Did he tell you he didn't love you?" Dr. Allen asked, watching Hope as she searched for an answer.

"Not in those exact words, but yeah, pretty much. We saw each other every day for three months because he needed my help with something he was working on. When he got what he needed, he peaced out. I haven't seen or heard from him since, and it's his fault," Hope said, sticking out her lower lip and pouting like a child.

Dr. Allen tried to stifle a smile at the ridiculous pout on Hope's face before speaking, grateful that, for the most part, Hope refused to make or keep eye contact. "Is it now? Tell me about that."

"Once again, nothing to tell, Doc. I fell in love with him, and he was using me. That makes my pain his fault." Even Hope had a hard time with that statement, but what else was she going to say? Hope supposed she could tell the Doc about her telling Dean to go fuck himself, or maybe about how he killed her monster of a father and would have killed her sister, but she escaped. Telling the Doc those things wouldn't change them, so what was the point?

Dr. Allen arched an eyebrow, regarding Hope with a dubious look. Hope wasn't even looking directly at her and could feel it. "That's not how that works, Hope. I think you know that."

"It doesn't matter. He broke my heart, and I don't ever want to see or speak to him again. Nothing will change that now." _Yeah, that's why I wish no less than six times a day I hadn't deleted his number from my phone._ Hope shifted uncomfortably on the couch, grateful that Dr. Allen couldn't read her mind.

"Hmm, maybe not, but I think there are other factors at play here," Dr. Allen responded. "And in order for us to find out what they are, I need you to tell me the whole story, starting from the first time you met."

"No." Hope set her mouth in a thin line, crossing her arms. No way was she going there. "I already said I'm not talking about that night."

"So you met him the same night you were raped? I'm assuming he wasn't one of the men who attacked you?"

God.Dammit. Of course the Doc would pick up on that. Now, what the hell was Hope supposed to say? She cleared her throat, reaching for the bottle of water on the low table in front of her. What she really wanted was liquor, but it would have to do. Silence fell across the space between them as Hope took a long drink, trying to think of a way out of answering the doctor's question.

A long, uncomfortable silence fell between them, but Hope couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't require an answer to Doc's question. "No, he didn't attack me," Hope said finally, "in fact, he and his brother saved me." Tears sprang to Hope's eyes as the memories of taking to Dean by the bonfire flooded her mind. If she thought about it really hard, she could almost feel the warmth of Dean's jacket, and she'd always believe that the scent of Dean had to be what heaven must smell like.

"Tell me about that, Hope."

Well, she'd done it now. There was no turning back, and she cursed herself for opening the door. Hope sighed, then told Dr. Allen the story of how she met Dean all the way to him and Sam rescuing her and taking her home that night. Hope stumbled over her words at first, but eventually, everything came tumbling out like a river flowing over rapids.

When Hope finished, she chanced a look at Dr. Allen, who, for once, looked very satisfied with their session. Hope dried her tears and took another long drink of water. "So what now, doc?"

"Now," Dr. Allen replied, "you begin to heal, Hope."

~~~~~~

Sam sat at the table in the darkness of the motel room, alternating his gaze between the window and Dean's sleeping form on the bed across the room, although Sam wasn't sure if it could be called sleeping. More often than not lately, Dean drank until he passed out and then tossed and turned all night in fitful sleep, murmuring the same eight words over and over again.

Resigning himself to not getting any more sleep, Sam pulled out his laptop and did what he usually did at three o'clock in the morning. Research. Only this research wasn't for any case they were working. He was keeping tabs on Hope as he had been since the day they'd left Lawrence. He told himself it was for her safety since they still hadn't found Heather, but that wasn't the only reason. Dean had been a mess since they'd left Lawrence, especially since Hope was true to her word and didn't try to contact either of them. Sam couldn't think of a single way to ease his brother's pain other than to make sure Hope stayed alive. Too bad Dean wouldn't even speak her name and threatened to punch anyone who did.

"I'm sorry, Hope," Dean mumbled as he turned over in the bed yet again. Sam glanced up from his laptop, shaking his head. "Don't go, please come back."

Sam closed the laptop, standing up and lifting his arms over his head to stretch, his fingertips touching the ceiling above him. He slipped on his boots and walked outside, closing the door softly behind him, as he took a deep breath of the sultry night air, gazing up at the dimly twinkling stars. "Cas?" he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Cas, if you can hear me. I need your help. It's Dean."

There was a rustling of wind as Castiel appeared beside him, startling him. "What's wrong with Dean?"

"Nice to see you too, Cas," Sam said. Castiel stared at Sam but said nothing else as he waited for Sam to answer his question. "Look, Cas. It's a long story, but I was hoping you might be able to ease some of Dean's pain. He's drinking too much, barely eats, and when he does sleep, it's like that." Sam gestured vaguely through the window toward the bed where Dean lay tossing and turning.

"What is the source of his pain?" Castiel glanced through the motel room window where Sam pointed.

"Not what, who. Almost two years ago, there was a woman Dean and I saved after she got attacked by a bunch of idiots at a frat party. They ended up becoming friends, and he fell hard for her. When the case was over, he broke her heart—and his too I think. I don't know what to do for him, because he refuses to talk about her." Sam shook his head, recalling the memory of the last time he'd tried to get Dean to talk about Hope, or if nothing else, call or text her. All Sam got for those efforts was a bloody nose, so he never tried again, but he thought about texting Hope himself many times. After all, Sam wasn't the one Hope hated, but in the end, he decided not to do anything because it wasn't his life. Besides, he'd started this whole damn thing by insisting Dean talk to Hope to begin with, so maybe Dean suffering was Sam's punishment too.

"Do you want me to make him forget her?" Castiel asked, gazing at Sam with narrowed eyes. "I can do it, but I'm not sure it's the best course of action."

Sam shook his head. "No—No. Absolutely not," he said. "Just, I don't know, do something that lets him get a peaceful night's sleep for a change?" _And me too._

Castiel nodded, then disappeared, reappearing next to Sam a few minutes later. "It is done, and all of his memories of Hope are intact. I couldn't remove them if I wanted to, the two of them are bound together."

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, 'they're bound'? Like soul mates or something?"

"Or something," Castiel replied. "It's complicated, but you and Dean will cross paths with her again. That's all I can say."

"I see," Sam replied, still not convinced. "Well, in that case, can you look in on her too? I've been worried about her since we left Lawrence, and I've tried to keep up with her through the internet, but there's not a whole lot to go on. If she needs it, will you do whatever you did for Dean?"

Castiel nodded, then disappeared, startling Sam again. No matter what, Sam didn't think he'd ever get used to the angel appearing and disappearing like that. Sam sighed, pushing himself off the edge of the car, and went back inside to try and get a few more hours sleep.

~~~~~

Hope thrashed on the bed as she desperately fought against the inner demons that tormented her mind. A slight sheen of sweat covered her body, and a few strands of sweat-slicked hair stuck to her forehead. It was the same dream each time, and no amount of liquor could keep it from rearing its ugly head every time Hope closed her eyes. She'd tried staying awake, but after about thirty-six hours or so, she'd be so incoherent she might as well have drunk a gallon of whiskey.

Castiel stood at the end of Hope's bed, watching her sleep. The room reeked like a bar, but Castiel didn't notice the smell, only the sheer number of empty bottles that littered the floor surrounding the bed. Hope reminded him of Dean, and he tilted his head to one side as he studied her. Did she know how much Dean needed her? Castiel thought not, or else why would the two of them choose to be miserable apart? He hadn't known Dean all that long, but Castiel was a quick study of humanity, and the first lesson he learned about Dean was that he didn't give his love easily, but when he did, he loved with his whole being. Just—good luck getting him to admit it.

"Humans," Castiel muttered as he stepped lightly through the glass bottles, careful to not make a sound and wake Hope. He stood over the side of the bed and lightly pressed his fingers to her forehead, his eyes glowing blue in the darkness as he took away some of her pain. He'd done the same to Dean, and he wanted to take all of it away. He didn't, however, because God had bigger plans for both of them.

"Rest easy, Hope," Castiel said, unable to resist the temptation of looking through Hope's memories, and what he saw there upset him more than he cared to admit. He saw the night Hope and Dean met, and then when they said goodbye through her eyes, just as he'd watched it through Dean's. Why were humans so cruel to one another? They were capable of endless feats of love, and yet they could torture themselves and each other on levels far beyond any demon Castiel had ever encountered could.

Hope tossed again, gasping as she opened her eyes and peered into the darkness of the empty room. The sheer curtains over the bay windows floated in the breeze, casting gossamer shadows on the floor in the pale moonlight. Someone had been in her room, she was sure of it, but it was empty now. Had she dreamt it? She sat up, flipping the bedside lamp on.

Hope shook her head, slowly becoming aware that for the first time in almost two years, her head wasn't pounding like a methhead playing on a set of bass drums, and she felt like instead of being pulled underwater, she could at least keep her head afloat now. What happened while she was sleeping?

Hope stood up and shuffled toward the bathroom, stubbing her toe on a whiskey bottle. "Shit," she muttered through clenched teeth as she picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap. She lifted the bottle to her lips, but then she pulled it away without taking a drink and screwed the lid back on, setting it down on the corner of the dresser as she passed it.

Hope paused at the door of the bathroom, casting a wary glance around her room. She could feel the presence of someone—or something. "Heather? Is that you?"

No answer. Hope scoffed, annoyed that she'd expected anything else. Heather was gone, just like everyone else she cared about. It was just her now, all alone, and the thought brought her little comfort. She sighed, then walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the sink, gripping the edges until her knuckles turned white as she stared into the mirror.

For the first time in over a year, Hope's eyes were clear and bright without the glassy haze of her usual drunken stupor. She turned on the faucet, splashing water on her face. Remnants of her nightmare flashed in her mind, but this time there was something else. The horrible images were surrounded by a warm, white light that wasn't there before, and a voice whispered from the depths of her mind. _Rest easy, Hope._ Dean's face came into focus in her mind, and Hope closed her eyes, willing it away.

"I can't do this," Hope mumbled as she turned off the faucet and slid down the front of the sink to sit on the floor. "I'm not strong enough."

Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. A tear dripped down her nose as she recalled the way he looked at her that night, sitting on the floor of her bedroom. In her mind, Dean smiled at her, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, as he spoke to her. _You're strong, Hope. Don't let anyone tell you different._

Hope leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, chuckling to herself as she wiped the tears away. If Dean saw her now, would he still think that way of her?

_What does it matter?_ Said the little voice. _He's forgotten you, just like he said he would._

Hope decided she'd have to talk to the Doc about her sudden bout of complete insanity at their next session. Was this what it was like to descend into madness? She'd just spend the rest of her time on Earth sitting on her bathroom floor and have conversations with a memory? Why did Dean's memory haunt her like this? It'd been almost two years since they'd parted ways; it was time to move on. Maybe not to someone else, because Hope couldn't even entertain the idea of trusting another person enough to hurt her, but she needed to let Dean go.

Sighing, she got to her feet and went downstairs, flipping lights on as she went. As she walked through the disaster zone that was her home, she stared in disbelief at the drunken squalor she surrounded herself with. There were bottles stashed all over the house, all varying degrees of fullness, and she couldn't even count the empty ones stacked on every available surface.

The kitchen was the worst, and Hope ran a frustrated hand down her face. She had no one to blame for the state of the room but herself, but that didn't stop her from getting angry. Growling softly, she reached into the cabinet under the sink and yanked out several trash bags, opening them with more force than necessary. "Gotta start somewhere, right?" Hope muttered to herself as she started dropping the empty liquor bottles into the bags.

When she finished with the kitchen, Hope had four trash bags filled to the brim with bottles. She rolled her eyes in disgust as she tied them off, carrying them outside through the kitchen door. It wasn't quite dawn yet, but the darkest part of the night had passed. The shadows were growing shorter as the sky lightened with the first pink streaks of light.

Hope couldn't remember the last time she saw the sunrise, and she dropped the bags into the outside bin, standing in awe in her driveway as she watched the sun greet a new day. She was so enraptured with the scene before her she didn't notice the dark-haired man in a trench coat standing across the road, watching her. A mewling sound came from under the front porch, and Hope frowned, dropping to her knees and peering under the porch to investigate.

A tiny black wisp of a kitten stared back at her with green eyes much too large for its head. "Oh, my God. Aren't you just adorable?" Hope breathed with a slight smile as she held out her hand. "It's alright, come here."

It took several minutes of coaxing, but Hope managed to get the kitten to come out from under the porch, and she gave it a quick once over. She wasn't a veterinarian by any means, but the kitten seemed relatively healthy, if a little too thin. "Hey, little guy. What are you doing out here all by yourself? Come on, let's go inside." Hope scratched the kitten's head as he bumped her chin with his nose, and Castiel watched with interest from his spot across the street. Hope turned and climbed the steps to her front door, glancing across the street where Castiel stood moments before to find it empty. Hope knew she felt someone's presence there, watching her. What the hell was going on?


	5. The Boys are Back In Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days prior to showing up at Hope's house, Sam and Dean arrive in Lawrence to take care of some unfinished business.

_**Lawrence, Kansas - Two Days Before Arriving at Hope’s House** _

Dean gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white, clenching his teeth. "Damn it, Sam. Why are we going back to Lawrence again? You know I hate that place."

Sam rolled his eyes, and avoiding Dean's death glare, stared through the windshield into the darkness. "You know why. Heather Bennett." 

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself not to flinch at Sam mentioning Hope's sister. The first two years after he and Hope parted ways had almost been the death of him until Sam stepped in and asked Castiel for help. The years after that improved so far as Hope's memory was concerned, but it was better to not go asking for trouble. Dean had enough crap to deal with already.

He nodded, loosening his grip on the wheel and flexing his fingers to restore circulation. "Alright, tell me again what's happening."

"According to the Douglas County Sheriff's Department, there've been several animal attacks on hikers in the woods near the river, and get this, they all had claw marks on their chests and torsos; their skulls ripped apart and their brains were missing." Sam glanced at Dean, who made a disgusted face. "Sound familiar?"

"Hope's dad," Dean muttered, shaking his head. "I'm assuming since he's dead, you're thinking Heather's returned to where it all began?" 

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. It's worth checking out, although this could be the work of a number of things, and might not be Heather at all. I mean, it seems a little odd she'd return to Lawrence after working so hard to disappear."

"You think it could be—" Dean hesitated, not wanting to say her name and hoping with everything he was that they hadn't been wrong about her.

"No," Sam said quickly, "Absolutely not. She's human, Dean." Sam's brows furrowed as a shadow of relief crossed Dean's face, gone as soon as it appeared. Dean frowned, staring out the window.

"How do you know for sure, Sam? I mean, really. It's been six years, maybe we were wrong." _Please, please, don't tell me we were wrong._

Sam sighed, gesturing toward the rest stop sign up ahead. "Pull over up there and I'll prove it to you."

Dean nodded, slowing the Impala as he exited the highway, then parked it under a canopy of trees, turning off the engine. Sam pulled up the website for Lawrence Memorial Hospital, scrolling through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then he turned the laptop screen toward Dean. "Check this out."

Dean read the article written about Hope, trying as best he could to ignore her picture at the top of the screen. "Okay, so she finished her residency last month. What does that have to do with anything?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nothing, keep scrolling." Dean did as Sam instructed, scrolling down the page until he reached the bottom where a calendar was embedded into the page, indicating the days that Hope ran a rape survivor's group meeting at the Lawrence Civic Center.

"What the hell does this prove?" Dean said, closing the laptop and starting the car. "It still might be her."

"It's not, Dean. Every single time someone was attacked, Hope was running this group meeting at the Civic Center across town at the same time, and when I called the Center to make sure she was actually there, they said she never missed one. She rescheduled a couple of them because of surgeries that ran long, but the ones that she rescheduled weren't anywhere near the time of an attack."

Relief flooded over Dean, almost crushing his lungs with the weight of it. At least it wasn't Hope they'd be hunting, only her sister. Somehow, that thought didn't bring him much comfort. Dean put the car in gear and drove back onto the highway, resigning himself to the task ahead of them and prayed he and Sam could get in and out of town sooner rather than later. It would be better for everyone if Hope never found out they were there.

They checked into a motel on the outskirts of Lawrence to get a few hours rest before they met with the sheriff. Sleep came much easier to Dean now, but he couldn't decide if that was a good thing. Sam never said precisely what Castiel did to help, and Dean was sure it was because Sam didn't have any idea. Memories of the night Hope walked away from him still haunted his dreams, and he still wanted to dive into a whiskey bottle to drown his guilt every time someone—Sam, mostly—mentioned her name, and for the life of him, he didn't understand why Cas didn't take all of his memories away.

Dean knew that throwing out Hope's name in casual conversation was Sam's way of letting him know she was alive and safe, but it was still a knife through the heart each time. Sam stopped mentioning her after a while, but Dean didn't believe for a minute that he'd stopped watching out for her. 

They walked into the Sheriff's Department and greeted the receptionist, and Dean let Sam take the lead because he was lost in thought about Hope. He tuned out the entire conversation, and Sam nudged him hard in the ribs, glancing down at his badge. "Oh, right, sorry. Here you go."

He held out the badge to the sheriff deputy, who scrutinized them and then handed them back. "What can I do for you boys?"

"What can you tell us about the animal attacks at the river?" Sam asked. 

The sheriff motioned for them to take a seat and relayed the facts of the cases as he understood them. Dean tuned the conversation out again but offered a hum of agreement occasionally. Sam frowned at him but said nothing, turning his attention back to the deputy.

Forty-five minutes later, they left the sheriff's office and walked back to the car. "What the hell was going on with you in there, Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, yanking the Impala door open. "I'm fine, man. I'm just tired." He slid into the driver's seat, silently praying Sam would let it go.

He didn't.

"That wasn't tired, dude. I've seen you tired. What is it?" Sam settled himself in the seat, pulling the door closed. He stared at Dean, wishing he would just spit it out already. It was obvious his mind was elsewhere, and Sam's money was on Hope.

"It's nothing, Sam. Drop it." Dean snapped, starting the car. He glanced over at Sam as he pointed the car in the direction of the motel. "So what do we got?"

"Fine," Sam retorted. He sighed, then continued. "Nothing new, really. Only that the victims features were all physically similar."

Dean shook his head. How the hell had he not heard that? No wonder Sam was annoyed. "Really? What did they look like?"

"They were all between five-ten and six-two, and all of them had sandy blonde hair and green eyes. Sound like anyone you know?" Sam asked, watching Dean as he pieced the puzzle together.

"Wait. Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Sam nodded, and Dean shook his head again. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, "It's her."

"Yep," Sam said, popping the p sound. "There's no doubt it's Heather, and she's out for revenge."

"So how do we find her?"

"Well, from what the sheriff said and looking at the crime scene photos, there's no way they were killed where their bodies were found, but the trails through those woods are definitely her hunting grounds. Best guess is she incapacitates them somehow, then takes them somewhere else to feed. The only reason she's leaving the bodies where they can be found is because she's trying to get our attention." 

"Well, it worked," Dean snapped, parking the car outside the motel room. "I guess we're going hiking tomorrow night."

"Guess so."

~~~~~~

_**Lawrence Kansas - Seven Hours Before Arriving at Hope's House** _

Dean slid the knife into his belt, then grabbed his pistol from the trunk of the Impala. His pulse raced in his ears, and his mouth was dry, the same way it always was before a fight like this, and he forced himself to put Hope out of his mind for the time being. He couldn't afford to remember that the creature he hunted used to be Heather Bennett, or he might hesitate when it came time to do what needed to be done. 

"You ready, Sammy?" Dean growled, slamming the trunk lid. Sam nodded, his brows furrowed, and Dean shook his head. "I know you're thinking it, same as me. But that thing isn't Heather anymore, you know that." Sam nodded again, worry still creasing his face. 

"I know," Sam said, swallowing hard as he checked the magazine on his pistol. "I know. I just hope that Hope never finds out."

"Me too, Sam." Dean said, heading toward the trail. "Me too."

Dean sat down on a wooden bench next to the trail, which had a full view of the river bend. It was one o'clock in the morning, and he and Sam had been out on the path waiting for hours. With a sigh, he stood up and turned to signal Sam to head back to the car. He couldn't see Sam in the trees, so he moved toward the last place he was sure he'd seen Sam waiting. 

Blood smeared the broken underbrush where Sam was hiding, but there was no sign of him. Dean forced down the panic rising in his chest. Why hadn't Heather just killed him? It didn't take him long to realize the answer to that question, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Yes, Heather wanted Dean's head on a silver platter, quite literally, but she planned to make him suffer first. Dean killed her father, so Heather would take someone Dean loved as retribution. At least Heather didn't know how much Dean loved Hope. Sam might have a chance of surviving, Dean wasn't so sure about Hope.

Dean forced himself to focus, shining his flashlight around the area. Sam was bleeding; that was a good thing, at least there was a trail to follow. Drawing the knife from his belt, Dean stumbled through the brush, stopping every so often to listen. He felt eyes watching him, and he was relatively sure he was being followed. This would've been so much easier with Cas's help, but he'd disappeared again, going off on his own doing God only knew what. 

The trail led on for a mile or so before ending abruptly at a road that ran through an abandoned industrial area at the northern end of town. Dean scanned the deserted street, counting the droplets of Sam's blood glistening in the pale yellow light of the sodium street lamp, and he wondered if Sam was walking on his own or if he was being carried. If he was being carried, that meant—

The _phut_ sound of a suppressed pistol echoed through the still air, and molten metal tore through Dean's side. The flashlight clattered to the asphalt, the bulb flickering twice before going out. "Fuck.me." He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth as his hand instinctively flew to his side. Blood poured from the rough opening, soaking through his t-shirt and oozing through his fingers. Whoever was shooting fired again, and the sound echoed through the street once more as Dean dove behind an abandoned car, using his blood-slicked hand to pull his own pistol from the waistband of his jeans. 

Why on Earth had he assumed killing Heather Bennett would be easy? They hadn't managed to catch her the first time when they killed her father. Did he really think she would make it easy for him now? She'd outfoxed them last time, and now it seemed she'd made a few friends. Dean's blood turned to ice in his veins, thinking about what she and her minions might be doing to Sam. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean seethed, both from the pain and the thoughts running through his mind. "I’m gonna rip that bitch apart when I find her." Crouching low and sticking to the shadows, he made his way along the deserted street toward the direction the fired bullets came from. The shooter fired at him again as he zig-zagged across the open street, taking refuge in a boarded-up doorway while bullets whizzed by his head. 

He glanced up, the shooter was on the second floor, just above and to the left of where he hid, so if he was careful and stayed close to the wall, he might make it to the entrance without getting hit again. Dean rechecked his wound, then peeked around the corner. Seeing no one, he stepped down the sidewalk, keeping his body pressed against the wall. 

Dean reached the first door and gingerly tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he prayed for quiet as he pulled it open far enough to step through. It slammed shut behind him, and his whole body cringed as the sound echoed around the space. Heather's giggle reverberated through the warehouse, setting Dean's teeth on edge. 

"Hello, Dean," Heather said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "It's so nice of you to visit. Sammy's here, but you better hurry. He doesn't have much time. Can you get to him before he bleeds to death?" The sound of tearing flesh and Sam's screams filled the space around Dean, and Heather laughed again. "Tick-Tock Dean."

"Sam!" Dean yelled, his eyes searching the darkness for his brother. Sam screamed again, and Dean let out a guttural roar. "I'm coming Sam! Heather, you bitch, I will rip off your head and shove it up your ass when I find you!"

"Bring it on, big boy. Tell you what, why don't you be a nice guest and play with some of my new friends?" 

Four of the biggest men Dean had ever seen stepped out from between the stacked crates and machinery surrounding him. "Son of a—"

Dean didn't have time to finish that sentence before all four of them charged at him in unison. He readied his knife in one hand and his gun in the other, rolling his shoulders and bristling for the fight. Dean dodged the first blow, only to be caught in the ribs by the second one hitting him with a steel pipe.

"Okay, that smarted a little," Dean quipped as he sliced Idiot #1's throat. He stumbled back, dropping the pipe with a clang and grasping at his bleeding neck. The first man glanced at his companion then back at Dean, then swung wildly at him, roaring incoherently. Dean sidestepped, looking for a way around them as he buried his knife into the back of Idiot #2's neck.

Idiot #3 tackled him, sending them both crashing into a steel conveyor belt, knocking the wind out of Dean. His knife and gun went flying in opposite directions as Idiot #3 wrapped his hands around Dean's throat and squeezed. "Alright, now you're just pissing me off," Dean groaned through gasps of air, reaching wildly around him with his hands, looking for anything to use as a weapon. Sam screamed again, and Dean erupted with fury as his fingers closed around a length of chain, and he gritted his teeth, yanking the chain toward him as hard as he could.

Dean's face was turning purple, and the edges of his vision were starting to go black as he wrapped the chain around his attacker's neck and jerked, severing Idiot #3's head. A spray of blood rained down on him, mingling with his own to create a single color piece of abstract art. "Ugh. This was my good shirt, too."

Dean shoved the guy off him, standing up straight and cracking his neck. He glared at Idiot #4, who hesitated, glancing around the warehouse as though Heather would jump out from the shadows somewhere and eat him. Dean retrieved his weapons, and Idiot #4 still hadn't moved. 

"I-I don't want to fight you, man. I-I just want to go home." Idiot #4 stammered, holding up his hands in surrender. Dean lifted his pistol, cocking it as he aimed at the guy's head. 

"Where's Sam?" Dean demanded, taking a step forward. "What did she do to him?"

"She'll kill me," Idiot #4 moaned, his eyes darting toward a room upstairs. Sam screamed again, and Dean growled at him. "She kidnapped us, made us do things for her."

"I don't care," Dean growled, then squeezed the trigger. The sound reverberated in the warehouse, making Dean's ears ring as he raced for the steel staircase. Four more bad guys stepped out of the shadows and blocked his path. 

"You know what, I have had enough of this shit." Without a second thought, he aimed at each of their heads and squeezed the trigger. "You hear that, Heather? I'm coming for you, bitch!"

There was no answer other than a guttural cry from Sam. Dean swallowed hard, then raced up the stairs, kicking through every office door until he found Sam in the corner room, strapped down to a table with this side ripped open. Blood pooled on the table around him, dripping like crimson sludge off the table and onto the floor. 

"Oh, my God, Sam. Sam!" Dean cried, shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans and crossing the room to free Sam. Dean grabbed a pile of greasy rags from the counter nearby, choosing the least filthy ones and pressing them to Sam's midsection, placing Sam's hands over them. 

"Come on, Sam. Stay awake for me, buddy. You gotta keep pressure on this while I figure out how to get us out of here.” Dean pulled out his cell phone. No service. "Dammit." 

"Dean," Sam gasped, his eyelids fluttering closed. He forced them open again, staring at Dean with glassy eyes as he fought to stay conscious. 

"Shh, Sam. Don't talk," Dean said, putting his hands over Sam's and applying more pressure.

"Dean," Sam repeated, gasping through the pain. "I'm dying." Sam inhaled sharply. "I need—" another sharp breath, then he whispered one more word before slipping into unconsciousness. "Hope."

Dean shook his head in bewilderment. He'd be better off taking Sam to a hospital than trying to convince Hope to help them. That would take more time than Sam had, and Dean was already feeling very homicidal toward one particular Bennett; what happened when the other refused to help?

_Hope won't refuse. No matter what, she's still a doctor, and Sam needs help,_ a little voice whispered. _She's the only one who can save him._

"Dammit!" Dean yelled, remembering the car was two miles away. He couldn't carry Sam that far; he'd definitely be dead before they got to Hope. 

"Cas!" Dean yelled. "Cas! I need you!" There was a flutter of wind and fabric, and Castiel appeared in the doorway. "Oh, thank God. Can you heal him, Cas?"

"I can't heal him, Dean. I don't have that much power anymore." Castiel said, tilting his head as Dean fought to keep his emotions under control. 

"Please, Cas, this is Sam. He can't die. Please help me. How do I save him?" Dean begged, tears stinging the corners of his eyes and threatening to spill over. 

"Take him to Hope," Castiel said flatly. "She will save him—and you."

"I can't, Cas!" Dean yelled. "She hates me and Sam will never make it to the car!" Dean ran his hands through his hair in frustration and tried to hide his tears from the angel. 

"Close your eyes, Dean." Castiel stepped forward, placing two fingers on each of their heads, then closed his eyes. 

Dean did as the angel instructed, and when he opened them, he was standing beside the Impala, and Sam was in the passenger seat, leaning against the door. "Go to Hope, Dean. Now. Sam doesn't have much time." With that, Castiel was gone. 

"Dammit!" Dean growled, sliding into the passenger seat and starting the car. He glanced over at Sam as he put the car in gear, speeding toward the highway. "Just hold on, Sammy, alright?"

Sam grunted softly, his grip on the rags loosening. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment, and he spoke a single word in a cracked whisper. "Hurry.”


	6. Wake Me Up

**_Hope’s House - Present Day_ **

Hope finished straightening the kitchen as best she could around the two unconscious men. She watched and waited for the next catastrophe, but they both seemed to be in stable enough condition for the moment. Licorice meowed curiously from the kitchen door, his green eyes inspecting the two strangers with suspicion. "Hey, buddy," Hope said, picking up the cat. She scratched his ears and the cat vibrated in Hope's arms. "Come on, let's leave these two alone to rest, okay?"

Unsure of what to do now, Hope walked out of the kitchen, still carrying the cat. She stopped when she got to the foyer, turning slowly around. There it was again, that feeling like she was being watched. Of course, there was no one there; there was never anyone there. Hope shook her head, shrugging it off as paranoia. After all, there was only one reason Sam and Dean Winchester would show up on her doorstep all bloody and dancing with death at four o'clock in the morning, and it certainly wasn't because they were having tea with the Queen.

Hope stalked to the living room, flopping down on the couch and flipping on the TV, then setting Licorice down on the cushion next to her. She curled her feet under her body, stifling a yawn, her coffee long forgotten. The TV was tuned to some early morning infomercial that Hope entirely ignored as she absently petted the cat curled next to her leg, letting her mind wander.

Letting her thoughts go unchecked was always dangerous, and Hope didn't like the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Sighing, she leaned back into the couch, fighting off the urge to pour a drink from the small liquor cabinet standing in the corner of the room. Even after all these years, she still fought a constant battle between staying sober and drowning herself in a bottle; sometimes she won, sometimes she lost. 

Hope told herself this was one of the times that staying sober had to be the winner. Sam and Dean needed sober Hope; the alternative wouldn't be good for any of them. She might not have wanted to see Dean ever again, but Dean still came to her for help; trusting her to help Sam. Hope pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and covered herself with it as she stretched out across the cushions. Licorice mewed in annoyance, jumping on the back of the couch and glaring down at her with wide green eyes. What Hope really wanted was to sleep in her soft, fluffy bed, but it was too far away from the kitchen, so the couch would have to do.

~~~~~

Dean opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as he lifted his head and looked around. What the hell happened? Why was he on the floor? The last thing he remembered was Hope handing him a cup of coffee and then looking at him with panic in her eyes like she thought he was about to die. He thought that was an odd reaction for someone who once told him she never wanted to see him again. Smiling a little at the thought, he moved to sit up, grunting at the searing pain in his ribs and along his side. He touched his side, feeling the rough gauze and tape covering the injury. Castiel was right; Hope saved them both.

Dean pulled himself up into one of the kitchen chairs, grunting and cursing as every movement sent jabs of white-hot pain through his chest and abdomen. A sheen of sweat covered his face, and his breath was coming in pained gasps by the time he situated himself by Sam's side. Sam was still unconscious, but his breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling at even intervals. Dean tried to check for a pulse, but he couldn't tell the difference between his own thrumming heartbeat and Sam's fluttering one. When he tried to stand to go find Hope, the room spun around him so violently he collapsed right back into the chair and laid his head on the table, closing his eyes. 

Hope jumped off the couch at the sound of something heavy moving in the kitchen. She ran down the hallway, skidding to a stop and bracing herself on the doorway. "Dean," Hope breathed. Dean lifted his head to acknowledge her, his face pale and sweating. 

"Hope," Dean whispered. What little strength he had left him and he lowered his head again, teetering dangerously on the edge of the chair. 

Hope took a deep breath to slow her racing heart, then crossed the room and lifted his head from the table, cupping his face in both hands as she assessed his condition. Her heart rate sped up again as she looked into his eyes, checking their dilation. Well, that's what she told herself anyway. "What the hell did you think you were doing? You shouldn't have tried to move, you could've ripped your stitches, or your IV," Hope chastised him, continuing her exam, then removed the IV from the bend of Dean's elbow.

Dean took a deep breath; she smelled of whiskey and honeysuckle on a warm summer night. He smiled weakly at her as she checked him for a fever, then she laid his head back down on the table, her hand lingering just a moment too long on his face. He closed his eyes so Hope couldn't see the sadness there as images from their talk at the bonfire played on an endless loop, alternating with the night they went their separate ways. 

"Sorry, doc. I had to check on Sammy." Dean kept his eyes closed and didn't lift his head at all, leaving Hope wondering how the hell he was even sitting semi-upright.

Hope pursed her lips, resisting the urge to lecture him. He probably wouldn't remember half of what she said anyway in his current condition. "Come on," Hope said, moving to his side and looping his arm around her shoulders as she helped him to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?" Dean asked as Hope maneuvered them toward the living room, his words slightly slurring together. "If it's to bed, you gotta at least buy me dinner first." Hope rolled her eyes as he laughed at his own joke, then coughed, aggravating his cracked ribs. "Dammit, that hurts," he muttered.

"Not much further." Hope rolled her eyes and grunted as Dean stumbled over his own feet. "And that's what happens when you go out and get yourself three cracked ribs." 

Dean grunted in response, but there was no snappy comeback, and Hope wondered if that was a bad sign. When they reached the couch, Hope lowered him onto the cushion and urged him to lie down, and he refused.

"I'm fine, just a little dizzy," Dean said, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes again. "Please, take care of Sam."

Hope stared at him, frowning. "I plan to, but right now, my priority is you. Sam's status hasn't changed since I last checked him. Yours has." Dean made a face, lightly slapping her hands away, and Hope sighed in exasperation.

"The sooner I'm done examining you, the quicker I can get to Sam. So keep fighting me, jackass, go ahead." Hope's tone was cold and demanding, and he wondered if that was how she always was with patients or if that tone was reserved just for him. Dean dropped his hands to his lap as he stared at her wide-eyed. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; he'd been cruel to her. What exactly had he expected? Hope nodded once, then moved the tattered remnants of his shirt to check his stitches.

As she moved, the sleeve of her robe slid up far enough to expose the jagged scar on her left wrist from her night with the broken vodka bottle. Dean swallowed hard, his gaze darting from her wrist to her face and back again. Question after question ran through his mind but decided now probably wasn't the best time to ask any of them. Hope finished her examination, moving away without warning and jerking her sleeve down to cover the scar.

"You didn't rip any stitches, so that's good," She said flatly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm going to go check on Sam now. You stay here and don't get up. Do you understand?" Dean nodded, swallowing hard. "Good." Hope nodded once, then turned and went back to the kitchen.

Dean heard Hope moving around in the other room, her occasional muttered curses reaching his ears, and the corner of his mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. He glanced around the living room, waiting for Hope's return, marveling at how little it had changed since he'd seen it last. The rug in front of the couch was new and looked out of place on the worn hardwood floor. Dean toed at the corner with one boot, folding the edge back on itself. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered when he saw the rust-colored bloodstain hidden beneath the rug. The puzzle pieces fell into place, and he knew without asking how Hope ended up with that scar. Dean leaned his head back, closing his eyes as guilt threatened to drown him. There was no way Dean could ever believe he wasn't at least partially responsible for Hope reaching that point. Why hadn't he just told her the truth? His breath caught in his throat when he realized he could've lost her forever, and he never would have known it until he showed up at her door, and she didn't answer. The thought made his blood turn to ice in his veins, and he thanked whatever force might have had a hand in her survival. 

Hope returned to the living room as Dean flipped the corner of the rug back into place. Heat crept up her cheeks as he glanced at her, and she saw the fear, worry, and relief in his eyes. She cleared her throat, sitting down on a chair across from the couch and trying to look anywhere but directly at him. 

_You're patching them up and sending them on their way, nothing more. You know it will never be more, so don't waste your energy. Treat and street, Hope. Treat and street._

They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, then Hope remembered she needed to tell him about Sam. "So, I think Sam will make it. He's stronger than I gave him credit for," Hope said, clasping her hands in her lap. 

Dean nodded. "That's great. Thank you, Hope. I know I am the last person you expected to show up here, and the last person you want to have in your house."

"I didn't do it for you. Well, not until you fell out onto my floor, anyway. I did it for Sam. Sam didn't go out of his way to be a fucking bastard to me, and I couldn't stand by and let him die because you're a dick." Hope sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Now isn’t the time."

"No," Dean said, chuckling, "it's accurate and I deserve every bit of it. There are so many things I wish I'd done differently, Hope. Believe me."

"I'm sure." The words came out with more sarcasm than she intended, but she didn't apologize for saying them. Hope swallowed the lump forming in her throat, forcing herself to stay detached. She cleared her throat, changing the subject. "Well, like I said before you decided to bleed all over my kitchen floor, once Sam wakes up he'll need to stay off his feet and recover for several weeks, and you as well, but you'll be able to go on your way." 

_And get as far as possible away from me before I fall back down into a hole I can't seem to stay out of._

Her words stung him, and he flinched. Hope tilted her head, confused by his reaction. She thought he would've given her that smirk he wore when he put her heart through the proverbial meat grinder. There was no smirk now, only a sad smile. Did he seriously think that was going to work on her? Anger simmered beneath her calm exterior, and a million and one insults sprang into her mind, readying themselves to be launched out of her mouth at any moment. 

The silence grew more awkward with every passing second, and Hope chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking as she waited for Dean to say something. When he turned his gaze on her, his face was a stony facade devoid of emotion, but his eyes… his eyes said so much more than words ever could, and for a moment, Hope forgot to breathe.

Dean cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from Hope and focusing on anything other than her face. "Hope, there's something I need to tell you. There's a reason why Sam and I are here, in Lawrence. I didn't want you to even find out we were in town, much less why, but obviously that ship has sailed."

Hope narrowed her eyes, confused again. So he _didn't_ want to see her? She closed her eyes and counted to five, then opened them, willing herself to not take a ride on the rollercoaster of Dean Winchester's logic. She held up a hand to stop him from saying anything else. "I know why you're here in Lawrence, Dean. I'm not dumb."

Dean's brows furrowed as he looked at her in confusion. "You do?"

"I mean, I don't know the _exact_ reason, no. But I know damn well you weren't out sightseeing with the Governor when you showed up on my doorstep covered in blood with Sam about three minutes from death."

Dean snorted, his smile widening as he shook his head. "No. No we weren't. But, I need to tell you this, Hope, so please let me."

Hope's blood turned to ice as she flashed back to the night they'd parted. She blew out a breath, then tilted her head and stared at him. "It's Heather, isn't it? You're hunting Heather."

Dean pursed his lips, then nodded. The movement was so slight Hope almost missed it, and she let out a strangled cry at his answer. He opened his mouth to explain, but Hope shushed him with a question of her own.

"Did Heather do that to Sam?" She asked, genuinely curious to know the answer. "Did she shoot you?"

"I don't think it was Heather who shot me, and I'm not sure if it was her or one of her minions that did that to Sam. He was bleeding from the time she took him, and she was gone by the time I found him." Dean avoided Hope's gaze, keeping his focus on the coffee table in front of him.

"I see." Heather paused, then pulled her feet into the chair and tucked them under her thighs. "So why _exactly_ did you bring Sam here, instead of taking him to the Hospital? You never answered that question before you decided to crash and burn on my kitchen floor."

"Well," Dean said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "the short answer is Sam. He told me to bring him here. I thought the hospital would be a better plan, but he insisted. He said he was dying and he needed you, so I brought him here."

Hope turned his words over in her mind for several moments before speaking. "I see," she repeated finally. Dean stared at her, unsure what to make of her answer. He shook his head in confusion and shrugged his hands.

"You see what, exactly?" He asked, growing more confused by the second. Hope ignored him, then shook her head and leaned forward in her chair, planting her balled fists in her lap.

"So let me get this straight. You tell me to have a nice life six years ago after killing my dad and failing to kill Heather, then you and Sam waltz back into town to finish what you started, doing the best you can to avoid seeing me, only Heather hands your asses to you and you end up on my doorstep anyway, and it was Sam's idea?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"Unbelievable," Heather scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Did you even want to come here, Dean?"

Dean regarded her with a piercing gaze, his eyes narrowing at her words. "Every damn day for the last six years, Hope! You were the one who told me you never wanted to see me again, remember?" He gripped his stitches, coughing.

Hope felt a little sheepish but refused to let him off the hook that easy. "And you were the one who said you'd forget me as soon as you left, remember?"

Dean's eyes widened, giving him a deer in headlights look. She had him there. He shook his head, and his expression softened as he looked at her. "Hope, I couldn't forget you if I tried. You can ask Sam when he wakes up, but believe me, I did try."

Hope opened her mouth to retort but closed it again as the weight of his words hit her. "So you lied to me?"

"I wouldn't technically call it lying, I don't think," Dean replied, running his hand through his hair and shrugging one shoulder. "I was trying to protect you, Hope. Believe me, you're safer in general if we aren't around."

"Dammit, Dean!" Hope exploded, unable to stop herself as the words tumbled out of her mouth. "You and Sam were my friends, my _only_ friends, and then you told me you didn't mean any of it, you were just here to kill what's left of my family. And then you _left_! I lo—" Hope caught herself before she finished that thought, coughing slightly. No way in hell was she about to tell Dean Winchester she loved him. Nope, wasn't gonna happen. "I lost my way after that for a really long time," she finished lamely.

"Yeah, I kinda got that," Dean said, nodding toward her wrist and wondering what Hope stopped herself from saying. "When did it happen?"

Tears sprang to the corners of Hope's eyes as she absently touched the raised edges of the scar. "Not that it's really any of your business, but it was about six months after you guys took off. One of the shitstains that attacked me that night ended up in the ER with multiple stab wounds, and I was the doctor on shift, so it was my job to save his pathetic life. I couldn't do it and I went into a tailspin. It almost cost me my residency, and that night I came home, drank a fifth of vodka, smashed the bottle on the table there and used the broken glass to open a vein."

Hope glanced at Dean's face, but his eyes weren't filled with pity like she expected, only empathy. She didn't know it, but he knew better than anyone what it felt like to think it might be better to just end everything than carry on one more day. "How'd you find your way back?"

Hope gave Dean a soft smile, shifting her gaze to her hands curled in her lap as color rushed to her cheeks. "It was you," she said simply.

"Me? I don't understand."

"Okay, well more specifically, it's what you said to me the night we met, when you told me to never give up, because if I did those bastards win." She took a deep breath and looked at him again, shrugging one shoulder. "You were right. So after I stitched myself up, I called a therapist my boss strongly recommended, as in, if I didn't go see a shrink I would lose my residency recommended."

"That's—" Dean paused, giving Hope a nod of appreciation, his face splitting into a lopsided smile as he glanced toward the kitchen. "That's a hell of a story. So how's the drinking now?"

Hope shrugged and waved her hand in a 'kinda-sorta' gesture. "I win some, I lose some. What can I say?"

"Yeah, I hear that." Silence fell between them for a few minutes as they retreated into their thoughts in search of something else to say. Dean considered and rejected several ideas since Hope made it very clear she didn't want to talk about what happened between them. 

"Hope?"

"Yeah?"

"I know it probably doesn't matter, and you wouldn't let me say it earlier, but I really am sorry for the shitty things I said to you that night. You didn't deserve that."

Hope stared at Dean, her mouth hanging slightly open. Why the hell was he apologizing to her now? What difference did it make, really? "Thanks, I guess. Although, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with that. You ripped my heart out, Dean, and you did it with this smirking, 'I don't give a damn' look, and I just—" Hope sniffed, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she stared through the front window across the lawn.

"I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I should've told you the truth." Dean cleared his throat, but not before Hope heard the thickness in his voice. The ice cage around her heart melted slightly when Dean called her sweetheart, and she silently chastised herself for being so easy to manipulate.

"And what truth was that?" Hope demanded, glaring at him. "I think you made it pretty clear how you felt—or I should say, how you didn’t feel."

"No, Hope. I didn't," Dean said with a sigh. "I gave you the short and sweet answer that has less truth to it than what's in the tip of my pinky finger, and do you know why?" Hope shook her head, gesturing for him to answer his own question, and after closing his eyes and counting to three, he continued. 

"Because, the truth was more messy and complicated and I was terrified of what it actually meant for us, for you. It was easier to make you hate me, at least that's what I thought at the time. I really thought you'd be easy to walk away from, and it messed me up for like, two years after that. Sam tried to help, but there wasn't anything he could do, not really anyway. It got so bad that Sam asked Cas to help."

"Wait," Hope said, holding up her hand, "who's Cas?"

"Sorry," Dean said. "Cas is Castiel, and he's an angel. Literally."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me!" Hope scoffed, staring at Dean incredulously. "Angels!? Seriously!? 

Dean nodded, giving her a small smile as he shrugged. "Seriously. Anyway, Sam asked him for help, and he did something, although I’m still not sure what. Things got a little better after that, but I never forgot you, Hope." He paused for a moment, watching her as she absorbed the meaning of his words. "I couldn't."

"When did Sam ask Castiel for help, exactly?" Hope asked. She tilted her head to one side, waiting for an answer as she recalled a memory. 

"Uh, I dunno, about two years after everything. Why?"

Hope's pulse thrummed a little faster. "Because I think maybe Sam asked him to help me too."

"You really think so?" He asked, unconsciously glancing toward the kitchen. Hope nodded, then told him about the night she woke up completely sober a few hours after going on a massive bender. 

"Wow, that's too weird to be coincidence, so you're probably right," Dean said after she finished the story. 

"Dean!" Sam coughed, gasping for air as he tried to sit up. Hope jumped up from the chair, and Dean tried to move from the couch, but a stern look and gesture from Hope had him staying put. Hope ran from the room as Dean called out in answer. 

"Sam! It's okay, don't move, Hope's coming." 

Hope appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, a broad smile splitting her face. "Hey Sam, glad to see you awake." She crossed the room to check him over as he watched her with hazy eyes. 

"Hey, Hope." Sam gave her a tight smile. "Is Dean okay?"

"He was shot, but he'll be fine. And so will you, but you'll both need to rest and take it easy for a few weeks." Hope said as she checked his pulse.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief then looked at her with eyes full of questions. "Dean told me why you two came back to Lawrence. I know about Heather."

Sam nodded as he looked at her with sad eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hope. I know she's your sister, but she's killing innocent people and she has to be stopped."

Hope held up a hand to stop him. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, my sister is gone and has been since the night you guys left town. That thing you're hunting, whatever it is, it's not my sister anymore. Especially not if innocent people are getting hurt, because the Heather I knew would never have dreamed of doing something like this to anyone. Not ever." 

Hope gestured between the two rooms as she spoke, and Sam nodded in understanding. "Can you sit up? Heather asked, reaching out a hand for him. "That table has _got_ to be uncomfortable."

"It is." Sam took her outstretched hand, and with a lot of cursing, grunting, and Dean shouting from the living room, Hope helped Sam sit up on the edge of the table and flashed her a half-smile. "It _really_ is."


	7. Counting Stars

“Just don’t try to stand, alright?” Hope said, holding out her arms as though she could catch Sam if he fell off the table. “You lost a lot of blood, and you aren’t invincible.”

Sam nodded, closing his eyes tight to stop the room from spinning out of control. “So I just stay here in the kitchen forever.” He snorted, then gave her a half-smile. “Got it.”

“Them’s the breaks, kid,” Hope replied, shrugging as Sam’s smile widened.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Sam chuckled, holding his stitches. “Where did you even learn it from?”

“So what if I did?” Hope said, shrugging again. “I’m sure I picked it up from one of those old movies my mom liked so much. Anyway, don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a second.”

“You mean I’m going to miss the marathon that starts in five minutes? Dammit!” Hope rolled her eyes at Sam, holding a middle finger above her head as she left the room. 

Sam laughed, grimacing as he grabbed the stitches again. “Owww.”

Hope returned, pushing a wheeled leather office chair. “Come on, Jolly Green Giant. Let’s get you in this thing so I can move you to the living room.”

Sam smirked, giving her a good-natured middle finger of his own. She laughed, then braced herself and helped maneuver Sam to the chair without too much pain. “Alright, feet up. Let’s go.”

Sam did as she instructed, and Hope pushed him down the hallway and through the doorway to the living room, parking the chair near the couch. The T.V. played a Dr. Sexy, MD rerun, and Hope rolled her eyes as Dean gave her a sheepish smile, shrugging. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hope said, chuckling to herself as her phone rang. She picked it up from the table and pressed it to her ear. “Bennett.”

“Hope?” Hope’s blood turned to ice water, freezing her from the inside out as her breath left her. 

“Heather? Is that you?” Hope said. Sam and Dean’s full attention was now on Hope, but she held up a finger to keep them quiet. Maybe it was because of the bad connection, or perhaps it was because Hope hadn’t heard her sister’s voice in six years, but regardless of the reason, Hope didn’t like this one bit. Especially since the two men trained to protect people like Hope from monsters like Heather were currently out of commission. 

“Hello, big sis,” Heather said. Icy tendrils wrapped themselves around Hope’s lungs and her intestines turned to water. This wasn’t Heather, and it hadn’t been for a long time. 

_Play your part Hope, everything will be fine._

“I-It’s been a really long time.” Hope cursed mentally for her shaky voice. “It’s good to hear from you, but I was just about to head out. Was there something you needed?”

“What? A girl can’t just call and chat with her big sister?” Heather asked. Hope swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice casual.

“I haven’t heard from you in six years, and now you want to call and chat?” Hope picked up the remote and muted the T.V., then sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Dean. 

“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Heather seethed, and a lump formed in her throat. “Oh that’s right, it was Gigantor and Tall, Dark, and Broody. How are they doing, by the way? Dean stopped by to visit me last night, but Sammy wasn’t doing so well so he left. Sorry you missed him. I know how much you lo—”

“Shut up, Heather,” Hope growled, glancing between Sam and Dean and hoping they didn’t notice the blush crawling up her neck. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Heather said innocently. After a short pause, she chuckled. “Okay, I do want something. I want you to give Dean Winchester a message.” Hope opened her mouth to protest, but Heather kept talking. “Don’t try to deny it, I know they came to you for help, and I know you, Hope. You had no choice but to help, but do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“What do you mean?” Hope asked. Where was Heather going with this? 

“As long as those two idiots are alive, they’re going to come after me, just like they did Dad. so basically you just reloaded the weapon that will kill the only family you have left. Good job, Hope.”

“I don’t know what you are, but you’re  _ not _ my family. Not anymore.” Tears stung Hope’s eyes as she said the words, but she refused to let them fall, especially not with Sam and Dean watching her. 

“Ouch. You cut me deep, Hope.” Heather sneered through the phone. “Fine, if that’s how you want to be. Tell Dean that the next time one of my new friends shoots him, it’ll be between the eyes. Tell him I’m hunting Sam now, and when I find him, I will tear him apart while Dean watches. Gotta go, sis. Muah!” 

The line went dead, and Hope pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the object in her hand as though she didn’t know what it was. She tossed it onto the table, her lips set into a grim line as a tear slipped down one cheek. How did her life get to this point? Hope wiped it away, then glanced over at Dean, who frowned impatiently. 

“What did she want?” Dean demanded, gesturing for Hope to speak, his worry growing with every moment of silence that passed. Hope’s eyes were wild and full of fear, reminding him of when he’d found her in the clearing all those years ago.

Hope cleared her throat, wishing with all her being that she had a better poker face. “Oh, uh, she said she wanted me to give you a message.”

“What message?”

“She’s hunting you both, and when she finds Sam she’s going to make you watch while she tears him apart.” Hope sighed, looking anywhere but at the look of murderous rage on Dean’s face. 

“That bitch,” Dean growled. “I’m sorry, Hope, but I am going to kill her. I swear to GOD I will.”

“I know,” Hope whispered, folding her hands in her lap and staring at them. There were no tears now; she knew Dean meant what he said. She’d heard him use this tone of voice only once the entire time she’d known him, and what happened afterward hadn’t been pretty. 

Sam watched Hope, his brow furrowed in concern. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s my fault that you’re in the middle of this. It wasn’t fair to drag you into it the way I did all those years ago.”

Hope lifted her head and glared at Sam. “Well, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Do you know how many times I have wished I never let Heather talk me into going to that fucking bonfire party, Sam?” 

Sam shook his head, staring at the floor and avoiding the anguished look in her eyes. Hope’s voice trembled as she continued, determined to say her piece. “You could take the number of days since that night and multiply them by ten thousand, and you still wouldn’t even come close to the answer. For over two years I wanted to die. Hell, I  _ tried _ to die! All because I said yes to Heather.” Hope paused, inhaling deeply as she gathered her thoughts.

“But you know,” she chuckled, shaking her head as she stared out the window, “the damnedest thing occurred to me just now while I was talking to her. My father and my sister are the same thing, and I’m not. My mother wasn’t either, and she’s dead. So the way I see it, if I’d stayed home that night, I never would’ve met either of you and I never would’ve gotten raped, but there’s a high probability I’d be dead now, regardless.” 

Hope stared at her hands, picking at her cuticles and trying to steady her trembling hands. “So despite all of the pain you two have caused, and the destruction you leave behind you everywhere you go, you guys saved my life that night, and have been doing it ever since. Because as long as you were a threat to Heather, she left me alone.” Every fiber of Hope’s being wanted to get up and get herself a drink, but she didn’t; she stayed rooted in place.

Dean hoisted himself to his feet, the room still swaying slightly around him, and the stitches throbbed hotly under his skin. He coughed, clearing his throat, and stumbled across the room to the liquor cabinet. 

“Dean, I-I shouldn’t,” Hope said, shaking her head as she watched him pour whiskey into three glasses. “And you guys shouldn’t either.”

“I know,” Dean replied, not looking at her as he twisted the cap back onto the whiskey bottle. “But we are, because I have a bad feeling things are going to get worse before they get better, because that’s just how me and Sam roll.” He picked up the glasses, holding one out to both Hope and Sam, then collapsed onto the couch, a subtle sheen of sweat covering his face as he downed the whiskey. 

Dean set the glass down on the end table, then laid his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe normally. The last thing he wanted was for Hope to see how much pain even that much movement caused him. He couldn’t protect her in this shape if Heather or her minions showed up, and the thought scared the hell out of him. With him and Sam both down for the count, what would happen if Heather decided to strike? Hope saved lives, she didn’t take them, and he seriously doubted her ability to take her sister’s life, even if it were necessary to save her own. He didn’t want Hope’s soul tarnished that way. She already had far too much to carry as it was.

Hope studied the amber liquid in the glass Dean handed her. One small drink couldn’t hurt anything, right? She bit her lip, losing the battle between her mind and the strength of her cravings.  _ Screw it, _ she thought, emptying the glass. She swallowed it down, relishing the burn of her insides and instantly wanting more. Dammit, what did she think would happen?

Sam emptied his glass, then scooted toward the coffee table and set it down, watching Hope’s face change as she struggled to get herself back under control. He glanced at Dean, who still hadn’t opened his eyes or said anything since he sat down. “Dean? You alright?”

“Mmm,” Dean said, his head rolling to one side. Hope watched him as panic rose in her chest, squeezing her lungs within an ice cage. The empty glass hit the table with a clatter as she jumped up from the chair and went to examine him. 

“Son of a bitch,” Hope muttered, pressing the back of her hand to Dean’s forehead. No fever. That was an excellent sign, but not an explanation. She cupped his face in her hands, the skin of his cheeks warm and scruffy in her palms. His jaw was slack in her hands, his lips slightly parted and at that moment, all Hope wanted to do was kiss him awake. Too bad real life wasn’t a fairytale, and kissing him wouldn’t magically heal him.  _ Focus, Hope!  _

Hope shook her head, muttering varying degrees of profanity as she examined him. His pulse was fast, but steady, and she thought that was also a good sign. So why the hell wasn't he responding to her? She slapped his cheek lightly, snapping her fingers. Dean’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, but there was no other response. “Dammit, Dean! Come on, wake up.” Hope slapped his cheek again, praying as hard as she could. 

“Sam!” Hope said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Call your angel. Dean’s in trouble and I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Sam nodded, trying not to panic at the worried tone of Hope’s voice. “Cas!” he called, closing his eyes. “Cas! It’s Dean, he needs help!”

In a fluttering rush of wind and fabric, Castiel appeared in the middle of the living room. Hope barely noticed him as focused as she was on trying to wake up Dean. She stared in disbelief when he gently pushed her away and then pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead as his eyes glowed blue. Dean coughed, then gasped, opening his eyes as Castiel moved his hand away and turned to Sam to do the same thing. 

“Cas?” Dean said, the note of confusion in his voice unmistakable. “I thought you said you couldn’t heal Sam? You said that’s why I had to bring him here!”

“There’s no time for that now, Dean,” Castiel replied. “Something is coming. Be ready.” With that, the angel disappeared again. 

“What the hell just happened?” Dean demanded toward no one in particular. 

“Cas just saved your life,” Sam said quietly. He gave Hope a small smile as she flopped back on the couch next to Dean, staring at Sam.

“I got that,” Dean snapped, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But Cas specifically told me to bring you here so Hope could save us both because he didn’t have enough angel juice to heal you. Why did he lie to me?”

“Probably because the two of you are ‘bound together,” Sam said, making air quotes with his fingers. Sometimes Sam loathed how cryptically the angel spoke, but even he had to admit Castiel was right about Hope and Dean. No one gets that panicked over someone they don’t love, even if it’s just a little. “His words, not mine.”

“Alright, start talking.” Dean glared at him while Hope stared at Sam in open-mouthed shock, trying to process what he’d said. “What the hell do you mean ‘bound together?’ Are we talking soulmates or something, because that whole concept is more than a little crazy if you ask me.” 

“Or something, according to Cas,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “All he said was it was complicated, and that we’d cross paths with Hope again.”

“And when the hell was this exactly?” Dean demanded, glancing at Hope. She sat deathly still, as though she were made of porcelain, fragile enough to shatter at any moment.

“The night I asked him for help. That’s why he didn’t take your memories of Hope, or hers of you. He couldn’t.” Sam explained, feeling as crazy as he thought the words sounded. 

“So what now?” Hope croaked, trying to swallow the lump in her throat currently threatening to choke her. Sam and Dean both gave her odd looks, and she shrugged. “I mean, you guys are healed, right? No reason for you to stick around now.”

No matter how much she tried to deny it, them leaving was the last thing Hope actually wanted. But, she was sure that what she wanted wasn’t the same as what Dean wanted, and she’d already come dangerously close to revealing her true feelings, and the thought of that actually happening mortified her. It meant she’d be even more vulnerable to him, and he’d already managed to rip her heart to shreds once. What could he do if he knew the truth?

“Is that what you want?” Dean asked. Hope sat frozen, unsure of how to answer. This would probably be the last time she ever saw them for real this time. Once they killed Heather, they would leave and not come back. After an interminable silence, Hope shrugged. 

“I’m not sure. If you’d asked me nine hours ago when you were banging on my front door, I would’ve said absolutely. But now—” Hope shook her head, refusing to say any more. Dean stared at her, a combination of hope and fear in his eyes. If Hope sent them away, he’d go, but he knew without a doubt, just like six years prior, it would break his heart to do it. 

“Sam, could you give us a minute?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off Hope. She refused to look at anyone, keeping her head bowed and her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Sam said, standing up and pushing the chair toward the door. “Where does this go?”

“Office,” Hope said. “Across the hallway.” Sam nodded, then disappeared out of the room.

“Hope—” Dean started, but Hope didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

“Just don’t, Dean,” she said, chewing on her lip to keep it still. “I know what you’re going to say, and I can’t go through it again. Once was enough. So please, save the speech, alright?”

“No, you assume you know what I’m going to say, but you really don’t.” Dean stood, grateful beyond measure that the room no longer spun when he did. He held out his hand, and Hope took it, eyebrows raised. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, the knot of tension growing between her shoulder blades. What was he up to? Hope decided it couldn’t be anything good as she waited for an answer.

Dean shook his head, silencing her. Hope gazed up at him with a look of startled confusion. He didn’t speak, which, if Hope was honest, freaked her out more than if he were talking nonstop. At least she could brace herself against words. Right now, she didn’t know what was happening and that was far worse as far as she was concerned.

He let go of her hand as she stood up straight in front of him, looking like he imagined a panicked horse might look, eyes wide with fear as she tried to decide whether to stay put or bolt away. He stepped closer, and he felt the change in the air between them when every single muscle in Hope’s body tensed, vibrating like a too-tight spring. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hope,” He murmured. 

“I don’t believe you,” Hope replied, clearing her throat. Every fiber of her soul wanted her to turn and bolt out the front door, not looking back until Dean Winchester was out of her life for good this time. So why couldn’t she make her body listen? He took another small step, and her heart skipped a beat in response, but she resisted the urge to take a step backward.

Dean stood directly in front of her now, close enough that she could reach out and wrap her arms around him if she wanted to. She didn’t, but oh, how she thought about it. Did he still smell the same? He raised a hand, curling his fingers to caress her face. She flinched, closing her eyes and drawing back a half-step as he touched her. 

“I promise.” Hope gazed up at him, chewing on the inside of her lip. She had no idea if she could trust what he said, but some tiny part of her believed him, and she nodded slightly. Dean gave her a soft smile, using his fingers to brush away the stray hairs framing her face.

Hope gazed at Dean’s face, forcing herself to stay present in the moment. She hadn’t been this close to anyone since the night of the bonfire, or even before that. Hope focused on the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, thinking how odd it was in all the time they’d spent together after that night, she hadn't noticed them before. 

Dean’s eyes were soft as he gazed at her, and Hope swallowed hard as her heart hammered wildly inside her chest. Before she had time to overthink it, his lips were on hers, and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. God, he still smelled like heaven, but now it was mixed with the coppery scent of dried blood and whiskey. His tongue found hers, and at that moment, she understood what it meant to melt into someone else. She was no longer a solid form, just a boneless mass clinging to the man in front of her for dear life.

He tasted like whiskey and cinnamon, the combination of the two almost lethal to her senses. She pulled him closer, so close she was sure he’d feel her heartbeat through her skin, but for once, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was here, right now, and for the first time since the night they met, Hope felt safe with someone when he wrapped her in his arms.

Dean pulled away, breaking the kiss, but he didn’t let her go. “Do you believe me now?”

“Nope,” Hope said, flashing a mischievous smile. “But I might be persuaded if you do that again.”

Laughter vibrated through his body, and Hope suddenly wanted to run away and hide from everything. She turned her face away from him, and he tilted his head to one side, studying her. “Hope,” Dean said, placing a finger under her chin and turning her face toward his. “I will gladly do that as many times as it takes for you to believe me, do you understand?”

Hope nodded slowly, then moved away from him, her hand trailing down his arm as she did. There was a look of sadness in her eyes that Dean didn’t fully understand, and for a moment he wondered if she'd ever give him the chance to try. 

There was a knock at the door, and Hope moved to answer it, but Sam waved her back, pulling the door open. “Who the hell are you?” Loretta said from the other side of the door. “Where’s Hope?”

“I’m here, Loretta,” Hope said as she pulled the door open further and waved Sam away, inviting her inside. What on Earth was she doing here?

“Am I interrupting something?” Loretta asked as she walked into the living room to see Dean standing in the middle of the room, watching her. “Hope, is there something you want to share?”

Hope shrugged. “No, not really. Dean and Sam were in town and they decided to drop by.” 

_ Only because they were dying and had no other choice _ , that little annoying voice quipped.

_ Shut up! _ Hope screamed silently. The last thing she needed right now was to be tangling with her inner demons. She had enough crap going on outside her head; she didn’t need this. 

“And you’re okay with that?” Loretta raised an eyebrow, then gently took Hope by the elbow and led her toward the kitchen. “Excuse us for a minute, will you?”

Dean and Sam both took a step forward in warning, but Hope waved them away. “It’s alright, guys. Loretta’s a friend.” Loretta tossed a sardonic smile over her shoulder as she and Hope disappeared through the kitchen door.

“Let go, Loretta.” Hope twisted out of the older woman’s grasp. “It’s not what you think.”

“Well, just what the hell is it then?” Loretta stood with her hands on her hips, glowering at Hope as she waited for an answer. “Six years ago you swore you didn’t want to see that man ever again and now he’s standing in your living room, because he just  _ happened  _ to drop by? I don’t buy it, something else is going on here. Are you in trouble, Hope?”

How the hell was she supposed to answer that question? On the one hand, she was in a lot of trouble because her sister was a brain-eating monster hell-bent on revenge. On the other, at least for the time being, it wasn’t Hope that Heather was after, but that fact gave Hope zero comfort at all. Trying to explain any of this to Loretta would be nearly impossible, and Hope highly doubted Loretta would even believe her if she did.

“Everything is fine, Loretta.” Hope held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I promise. But you really need to go, because I am dealing with a lot right now. I promise I’ll call you later. Okay?”

Loretta narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to believe her. “Alright,” she said finally. “But I don’t like it.”

Hope grinned at her, pushing the kitchen door open wide and gesturing toward the hallway. “You wouldn’t be Loretta if you did.”


	8. Blown Away

Loretta walked back to the foyer with Hope close behind her. She held the same hands-on-hips stance as she had in the kitchen, glaring at Dean so fiercely he took an involuntary step backward, and Sam busied himself with thoroughly examining Hope's bookshelves and trying not to laugh at the scene before him.

"Listen here, jackass," Loretta said, pointing her index finger at Dean. He stared at her, a slight smirk curving the corners of his mouth. "I've been waiting six years to tell you what a selfish, arrogant dick you are. And if you think for one minute I'm going to sit back and watch you rip this girl apart for a second time, you've got another thing coming. Hope is like a daughter to me, so if you break her heart again…" Loretta's voice trailed off, and she shook her head, unable to find the words to finish her next thought. "Do we understand each other?"

"I think I get it," Dean said. The smirk was gone now, but Hope saw the humor dancing in his eyes. "Look, I know I was a dick the last time, and believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are that Hope even let me in the house. But, I will always be grateful she did." Dean glanced at Hope, then back at Loretta. "I have no intention of ever doing that again."

Hope stared at Dean, her mouth slightly open. What the hell did that mean? Was he saying he wouldn't leave her ever again, or he just wouldn't be a dick about it? Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she ignored it. She couldn't afford to give into ridiculous notions of happily ever after with him. After all, happily ever after was a fairy tale myth, and her life was certainly no fairy tale. 

"Boy, I don't give a damn about your _intentions_!" Loretta pursed her lips, scowling at Dean. "I'm sure you didn't _intend_ to leave a wake of destruction behind you the last time, but you did. You better make sure it doesn't happen again, or our next meeting will not be nearly as pleasant."

Dean swallowed hard, looking sufficiently chastened. "Yes, ma'am. Got it."

Loretta nodded, turning to Hope. "You watch yourself around him, sweetheart. I smell trouble brewing."

 _You have no idea._ Hope smiled, then reached for the doorknob. "Thanks, Loretta. I'll keep that in mind." Hope paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, then turned back to her. "Why did you come by anyway?"

"Oh," Loretta said, glancing around. "I, uh, was on my way to the hospital and I saw that car parked in your driveway. You don't usually have visitors, so I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Hope nodded, then opened the door for Loretta. Something tugged at the edges of her gut, and she tried to make sense of it. Loretta stopping by wasn't unusual; she'd done that a few times before. Even Loretta chastising Dean wasn't outside the reaches of normal, she'd talked about 'wrapping her hands around that scrawny boy's throat' more times than Hope could count over the last six years. What was it?

Hope shook her head, dismissing the feeling. Whatever it was wouldn't make itself known any faster if she forced it. "Well, I appreciate it, Loretta, but I really am fine. Now, you should get going before you're late for your shift."

Loretta brushed past Hope as she stepped out onto the porch. "Please be careful, Hope," she pleaded, turning back to face Hope. "I have a really bad feeling about all of this."

 _You and me both._ "I know," Hope replied, leaning against the door. "I do, too. You be careful too, alright?"

Loretta gave Hope a confused look but chose not to say anything else. Hope watched after her as Loretta crossed the narrow yard, unlocking her car on the way. A flutter of movement across the street caught Hope's eye, and she swallowed hard, slipping out the front door and closing it behind her, hoping Sam and Dean wouldn't notice.

Three of the biggest men Hope had ever seen in her life marched toward Loretta from all directions. Hope's intestines turned to water, and her whole body trembled with fear as one of them grabbed Loretta, clamping his hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. 

"Stop struggling, bitch," the man growled, grunting as Loretta struggled in his arms, her eyes wide as dinner plates. "Boss says you have to be alive, she didn't say you have to be in one piece." 

Loretta stopped fighting, and tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes as she struggled to breathe around the ham fist covering her nose and mouth. Hope took a deep breath, then stepped forward out of the shadow of the porch. Memories from the night she was attacked flooded her mind, and her heart galloped like a racehorse in the running for the Triple Crown. Terror gripped her lungs, squeezing out the last of her breath, and for a moment, she considered staying hidden, but forced herself to take a calming breath. Terrified or not, she wouldn't forgive herself if Heather hurt Loretta because Hope was too much of a coward to do something.

"Hey, assholes," Hope barked, bounding down the steps. "Let her go. She's got nothing to do with this."

"Sorry, no can do," one man said. "Orders are orders. She's the one we're supposed to take."

"Are you sure about that, moron?" Hope growled. "I happen to know your boss, and she's not going to be happy with you if you bring back the wrong captive." Hope had no idea what she would do or say to get them to actually release Loretta, but she had to try. She also had to do it quickly, before Sam or Dean noticed what was happening outside and ruined everything by running into the fight, guns blazing—or whatever it was they did when fighting monsters.

Loretta stared at Hope wide-eyed with confusion. What the hell was going on? Hope winked at Loretta, a move so slight she almost missed it. The three men stared at each other, slightly unsure, and Hope seized the chance that presented itself.

"Look, if you want to keep your heads intact—take me," Hope said, holding out her arms in a come and get me gesture. "I'm the one your boss wants. If you take me, the Winchesters will come, and that's what she wants, isn't it? If you take Loretta, they'll still come for her, but it won't be the epic standoff she wants. Trust me on this, guys, I know her." Hope grimaced, then wrinkled her nose. "Bit of a drama queen, no? How many of you have died because she threw a temper tantrum?"

The three men exchanged worried glances, and as they were about to release Loretta, the front door opened behind Hope, and Dean and Sam stepped onto the front porch. "What the hell is going on here?" Dean said, reaching for his pistol in the waistband of his jeans, realizing a moment too late it was in the floorboard of the Impala where he'd dropped it in his hurry to get Sam to Hope.

Wicked grins spread across the three men's faces as they caught sight of Sam and Dean. They scowled at them, then back at Hope. "Or we can just take them back to her now. She'll reward us nicely for that."

"She might," Hope shrugged, gesturing for Sam and Dean to stay on the porch. "But that's only if you take them back alive. I don't care how good you think you are, they will kill you before you get that chance. And if you did manage to kill them, she will rip you apart for it." The men swallowed hard, imagining in detail the truth of Hope's words. The one holding Loretta released her, shoving her face-first into the grass.

A threatening growl escaped Dean as another grabbed Hope by the arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, pinching and bruising her skin as though she were a ripe peach. Dean took a menacing step forward, but Sam held out an arm to stop him as Hope glared at both of them, shaking her head.

"Now boys," Hope said casually. "There's no need to get rough. I will go with you willingly, no tricks. Scout's honor." She held up two fingers, and the men nodded. The one holding her loosed his grip but still clutched her arm.

"Let's go," He growled, pulling her toward a car waiting down the block. 

Once they were far enough away, Dean went to help Loretta up. She stared at him, trying to decide how much of what just happened was his fault. Twisting out of his grasp, she rounded on him, about to let him have a piece of her mind, stopping short at the look of fear and desperation in his eyes. No, this situation right here might not be his fault, but he already blamed himself. That was something, Loretta supposed and changed her mind about tearing him a new one.

"What the hell just happened?" Loretta demanded. "What kind of trouble did you bring down on Hope?"

Dean glared at her, preparing to send a scathing retort flying in her direction when Sam silenced him. "It's a really long story, and we don't have much time. We need to find Hope before Heather hurts her."

"Heather?" Loretta gasped. "As in Hope's sister, Heather? I don't understand."

"Like I said, it's a long story," Sam said, helping Loretta up the stairs to the door. "Until we find her, you need to go inside, lock the doors, and stay there until we get back."

"But, I-I have to get to work. I can't call off my shift this close to the start," Loretta said, shaking her head. "There's no one to cover for me."

"Fine," Dean growled. "Get in the car, we'll drop you off on the way." Loretta nodded, following the two men back down the stairs to the waiting car.

"Don't we need to call the police?"

"No!" Sam and Dean both said in unison as the three of them climbed into the Impala.

"No cops," Dean said. "They'll only get in the way or get themselves killed, probably both. You've gotta trust us. We'll take care of this, and get Hope back in one piece."

Loretta cocked an eyebrow at Dean, glaring at the back of both their heads. "Fine," she sighed. "But you better keep your word, Winchester." Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror as he backed out of Hope's driveway, then nodded at Loretta, hoping like hell he could do exactly that. 

After they dropped Loretta off at the hospital, Dean drove toward the abandoned warehouse near the river where Heather took Sam the first time. He honestly didn't expect her, or anyone, to still be there, but maybe with a little luck, he and Sam might stumble on where Heather's minions took Hope. 

Dean had been trying to wrap his head around Heather's minions since the night in the warehouse. They weren't demons, didn't seem to be shifters or vamps, definitely weren't ghouls. Heather was a Kitsune, not a siren, so how did she control them? And why? He decided it didn't matter; a single bullet to the head seemed to kill them, so that was good enough for him. 

~~~~~

They parked the car a block away from the warehouse in an alley, then pulled their gear from the trunk. Dean shuddered as he slammed the trunk closed, trying to will away the horrible feeling of deja vu creeping up his spine. 

_Focus, dammit. Hope is depending on you._

He nodded to Sam, leading the way toward the end of the alley and keeping a tight grip on his pistol as adrenaline surged through him like a broken water main. They pressed themselves against the wall of the warehouse, stepping as quietly as one possibly could through broken glass and rubble. Dean learned his lesson the first time, though, and he kept his eyes and pistol trained on the upstairs windows, waiting for a shot to come from somewhere in the shadows.

Sam eyed the empty street warily as he and Dean approached the side door he'd used the last time he'd been here. "Dean," Sam whispered, getting an annoyed shushing gesture from Dean in return. "Dean," he repeated, grabbing his arm. Dean spun, annoyance glinting in his eyes.

"What, Sam?"

"Don't you think this seems a little, I don't know, too easy?" Sam shrugged, unable to shake his uneasiness. 

Dean glared at him. "Too easy? Of course it's too easy if you're comparing it to the last time. By this point you were already bleeding out and I'd been shot. This is a friggin' cakewalk compared to that. What is your point, Sam?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "The door is my point." Dean frowned in confusion, and Sam resisted the urge to facepalm. "If that door isn't rigged with explosives, I would be extremely surprised."

"Seriously?" Dean shifted his gaze from the door to Sam and back again. "You think the door is going to blow up in our faces?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "But this is Heather, and I think by now we should've learned to not put anything past her. She wants your head, Dean, and she went as far as kidnapping her own sister to get it."

"Exactly, Sam," Dean growled. "Which is why it won't be satisfying enough for her if she kills me with a door bomb." 

Sam furrowed his brow, considering. Dean had a point, Heather would see that as anticlimactic, but it didn't mean Sam was wrong. They couldn't save Hope if they were lying in a hospital bed with a chest full of shrapnel while the one doctor they both knew without a doubt could save them was left to the mercy of her psychotic sister who was hell-bent on revenge. "Okay," he said after a few moments. "You're right, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

Dean rolled his eyes, but even as irritated as he was at Sam's logic, he had to agree. "Fine," he growled, crouching low and moving to the opposite side of the door. He touched the handle with his fingertips, aiming his gun at the opening.

"One," he mouthed as Sam nodded, tightening his grip on his weapons.

"Two." Dean pressed down on the lever as slow as he could to prevent any noise, and he and Sam both leaned as far back into the wall as they could, trying to become a part of it. 

"Three." Dean yanked the door open, letting go of the handle as the door swung open wide. After a second of silence, the smell of gunpowder filled the air around them as bullets tore through the open doorway, seeking a target that wasn't there. Dean took a deep gulp of air, thankful this was one of the times he'd chosen to heed a warning instead of charging in and hoping for the best. He glanced over at Sam, who swallowed hard and stared back at him owl-eyed as beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

The bullets slowed, then stopped altogether, the metallic _ping_ of bullet casings hitting concrete still ringing in their ears. The two of them kept their positions, listening for the sounds of a weapon being reloaded. After several seconds of silence, Dean was satisfied that there wasn't going to be another round of 'who gets to be Swiss Cheese,' and he peeked around the edge of the doorway. The warehouse was dark, although not as dark as the last time. The sun peeked in through the broken windows of the second floor, but it was fading fast, and Dean had no desire to search this place for a second time in the dark.

He motioned to Sam, and they moved through the first floor, searching amongst the conveyor belts and machines, but finding nothing. Even the bodies of Heather's minions he'd killed were gone, and he wondered idly if she'd eaten them. He shook his head, shuddering as he forced that thought out of his mind. 

"You good?" Sam whispered, getting a curt nod in return. He swallowed, glancing up the steel steps to the second-floor catwalk and the offices that lined one side of the building. Sam didn't remember much about the night Heather took him, but he remembered enough. He swallowed hard, then gave a wordless nod toward the stairs.

Their climb up the steps was excruciatingly slow as they moved back to back with their weapons and eyes sweeping 180 degrees, alert for danger in whatever form it might take. They cleared the offices, much slower than Dean had the first time when he searched for Sam. Then, he supposed, if he hadn't found Sam because of some booby trap Heather left behind, well that just meant that he and Sam would die together, but now—it was so much more than that.

Two of the offices were rigged like the warehouse door. As the last of the bullet casings fell to the floor, Dean stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it, wondering where the hell Heather got weapons like that. _It has been six years,_ he told himself. _Who knows what else she had time to do?_ He glanced around, looking for Sam, who had already started moving on down the steel walkway. 

Dean glanced down at the warehouse below through the steel mesh beneath his feet. He hated being up here like this, open and exposed enough that a well-placed bullet from below might end either him or Sam without so much as a chance to return fire. He swallowed hard, then moved a little faster to catch up to Sam.

Sam didn't acknowledge Dean when he caught up, although he felt his presence just the same. He stopped moving abruptly as they approached the last door in the line of offices, and he knew without looking it would be arranged identically to all the others. All the others, that is—except the one at the opposite end, where Heather tried to rip out his intestines when she'd grabbed him before.

Sam swallowed hard, then pulled the door handle, giving it a hard shove inward. No flying bullets this time, just a muffled gasp loud enough to send his head swiveling around the corner of the doorway, searching for the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the room, was a woman who, at first glance, could've passed for Hope. Sam blinked twice, holding out his arm to stop Dean from charging into the room before he could be certain the woman wasn't Hope.

Sam stood up, and Dean shoved past him, glaring back at Sam. He turned, and all the air left his lungs as he stared at the woman bound and gagged in the chair before him. Hope? He studied her for a moment and instinctively knew—not Hope. Dean lowered his weapon and approached her while Sam stood guard at the door. There wasn't any other way in or out of the room, except the windows high up on the wall, which no human could reach without help. 

The woman whimpered, saying something around the fabric in her mouth, her eyes wide in terror as tears fell from the corners. Dean held up his hands, palms raised, and moved toward the woman slowly. Her breathing quickened as he reached out and untied the gag around her mouth. As the fabric fell away, she started shaking her head violently.

"Y-You have to go, now!" she said, her voice shaking and hoarse from disuse. "She's coming back, and she's going to kill you both."

"We're not leaving here without you," Dean replied, moving around behind her and pulling his knife to cut the rope holding her bound.

"You have to! If you cut me loose, you'll die. If I move from this chair before she comes back, we all die!" the woman insisted. Dean ignored her, glancing around and under the chair before cutting her bindings and hauling her to her feet by one arm. The chair exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions, and the world seemed to move in slow motion as the explosion deafened him, sending him flying backward and slamming into the wall near the door. 

Dean lifted his head, blinking hard and trying to focus his blurred vision. Smoke and flames filled the room, and he looked around frantically for Sam and the woman. The woman lay sprawled on her side, her eyes wide open and unblinking, and she whispered two words as the last of her life faded away. "Told...you."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean roared, turning away from the woman's dead eyes. The woman who looked so much like Hope it was unnerving. In that moment, Dean understood why Heather chose her, and he prayed that Hope would forgive him after he flayed the skin from Heather's bones while she still drew breath. Death was simply too good for her now. 

Dean patted himself down, finding no major injuries. Guilt stabbed through him like a knife through plastic when he realized the woman had absorbed most of the shrapnel from the blast. Coughing, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees as dirt and broken glass ground into his palms. Where the hell was Sam? 

He stood, leaning heavily against the wall as he struggled to breathe. Okay, maybe he was more wounded than he realized. His ribs were cracked again, and he clenched his teeth against the pain as he stumbled through the doorway, finding Sam lying unconscious against the railing on the other side of the walkway.

"No, no, no," Dean muttered. "Dammit!" He searched Sam for wounds, his awareness dimming to only Sam, at the expense of anything else. He finished examining Sam and not finding any major wounds, he rocked back on his heels and reached for the railing above Sam's head to pull himself up. He closed his eyes as pain and starbursting lights exploded behind his eyelids as something heavy hit him across the back of his head. He stumbled forward, falling across Sam before glancing back toward his attacker. 

"I'm...gonna...kill...you...," Dean took a ragged breath as his vision dimmed, but he forced himself to stay awake. "Bitch." The last of his breath left him and he collapsed, his body sprawling across Sam's in protection as the world faded to black around him.


	9. My Blood

The trunk of the car popped open, and Hope blinked as her eyes tried to adjust to the unexpected change from darkness to light. She glared up at her captors, muttering curses through the gag they'd tied around our mouth, and one of the men reached into the trunk and slapped her across the face so hard tiny starbursts of light danced around the edges of her vision. _Fucking Douchecanoe._ Hope closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose to stay calm, then fixed a black glare on the man who hit her, praying with all of her being that Sam or Dean would kill him slowly.

The second man glared at the first, muttering curses in a language Hope didn't recognize as he slapped the first man across the back of the head. Man #2, who Hope referred to as Twatwaffle, glanced down at Hope with a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I apologize, draguta mea. My associate here has no manners." He spoke with a thick accent, and Hope glared at him, ignoring the pain radiating from her left cheek as it swelled, blood trickling from a cut in the center.

"Please," he said, reaching out for her bound wrists as though to help her out of the trunk. Hope shrank away from him, curling in on herself as though she expected to be hit again, and Twatwaffle made a _tsk, tsk_ sound, shaking his head. "Draguta mea, I do not wish to harm you. Your sister wishes to see you, and my _associate_ —" he paused, glaring at Douchecanoe, who looked utterly terrified now, "will be punished severely for your mistreatment. Our orders were clear, you were not to be harmed." He held his hand out again, gesturing for her to come to him. "Please, allow me to help you."

With a glaring lack of any other option but to accept his offer, Hope held up her hands. Twatwaffle smiled again, that little soft smile that didn't reach his cold, dead eyes. She shuddered beneath his gaze, refusing to keep eye contact. Once she was out of the trunk and standing unsteadily on her feet, he reached toward where the gag was knotted at the back of her head. Hope flinched, moving away from his hands.

"I am going to remove the gag, and it will stay off as long as you don't scream. So no screaming, yes?" He gave Hope a meaningful look, and she shuddered again, imagining what he might do if she did scream. She nodded slightly, and he untied the knot, pulling the gag away. Hope wiggled her jaw, then clamped her lips together in a thin line. 

It wasn't that she wanted to be obedient; in fact, every muscle and fiber of her body wanted her to scream until her vocal cords were shredded and there was nothing left of them. She didn't, only because she'd taken in her surroundings as the man helped her from the trunk of the car. They were parked outside a massive abandoned barn in the absolute middle of nowhere, and they hadn't bothered to blindfold her, which Hope decided meant they had no intention of letting her leave alive.

Douchecanoe shoved her from behind toward the barn doors, and Hope stumbled, tripping over her feet and plunging face-first into the dirt, reflexively putting her bound hands out in front of her body to break her fall. There was a sickening _pop_ from one of her wrists as the full weight of her body landed on her awkwardly bent wrist. Pain shot up her arm and spread through her body like a wildfire, and tears instantly sprang to her eyes as her vision grew blurry behind them. 

She wouldn't cry. Would. Not. It wasn't going to happen. Ever. There would be time for crying later if she got out of this. Dean would come for her, she told herself. There's no way he wouldn't. Not after kissing her like he had. Right? 

_Keep telling yourself that. Are you really that stupid? Do you really think he gives a damn about you? He didn't last time; why would now be any different?_ The cruel little voice inside her head screamed at her. _It's just a job for him, Hope. You are nothing to him. Nothing!_

 _No._ The word was a tiny whisper at first, then grew louder as it repeated over and over again, echoing around the inside of her headspace like a ricocheting bullet. _No._ Dean Winchester was no Prince Charming or Knight in Shining Armor straight out of some bullshit fairytale story, but that didn't matter. Saving people was what he and Sam _did_ , so regardless of his feelings—he would come for her, and that's what mattered to her now. What Hope didn't know at that moment was that Dean would tear apart the fabric of the universe if that's what he had to do to save her because she'd opened her door and let him in one more time. She'd saved both his and Sam's lives—even after how much he'd hurt her, and he would die before he failed her ever again.

Hope groaned, glancing over her shoulder at the man who shoved her, her eyes narrowing at the sly smirk on his face. She drew a hissing breath between her teeth as she tried to push herself up onto her knees. Rough hands grabbed her by one elbow, hauling her upright. Hope's chest heaved and blood pounded in her ears as she silently seethed, not giving the bastard any indication she was in pain. His smirk faltered at her lack of response and the second man slapped him across the back of his head again, then took Hope gently by the other arm and walked her into the barn between the two of them.

The barn was empty and had been abandoned for some time by the look of it. Hope wrinkled her nose, fighting back a sneeze as the three of them stirred up the old hay on the floor with their footsteps. Where the hell were they taking her? Even better question, what the hell were they going to do with her? Hope glanced up toward the cavernous ceiling, noticing the broken windows lining the top of the walls, just below the roofline. The fading twilight cast long shadows across the hay strewn floor of the barn, and Hope blinked, trying to focus as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. 

They walked across the massive space, Hope's slippers making soft thudding noises on the splintered wood floor. She moved her injured wrist gingerly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. It wasn't broken, but she definitely wouldn't be operating on anyone for a few weeks. She glanced down, trying to covertly inspect the injury and noticing for the first time she was still wearing her robe and pajamas. No wonder Loretta thought something weird was happening. Hope chuckled internally at the irony of that, stifling the small curve at the edges of her mouth, determined to not give these two asshats any kind of reaction at all.

"Where's my sister?" Hope finally demanded. The non-douchey man glanced down at her, then guided her to a support pole, binding her wrists around it behind her. Pain shot from her sprained wrist as it was twisted around behind her, and Hope grunted, unable to keep silent as searing fire spread through her body. After a few seconds of silence, Hope tried again. "Well, you said she wanted to see me. Where the hell is she?"

"She'll be here," Twatwaffle replied in his thick accent. "She had some—business—to attend to first." 

"Business?" Hope said, cocking one eyebrow. She wanted to ask what kind of business, but she had a sinking feeling she already knew. Hope tried to figure out why Heather would bring her to an abandoned barn of all places, and with only two bodyguards. Where was the third man she'd seen outside her house? No one answered, and he pursed his lips, glaring at her. Hope shrugged, trying not to panic at the thought of Sam and Dean confronting Heather. They'd tried that once already and they'd gotten their asses handed to them, and Hope had been the one to snatch them back from the jaws of death. 

The realization hit Hope like a freight train, and she felt like she would be sick. Her sister didn't want to see her; that's not what kidnapping Hope was about at all. Heather wanted Hope out of the way so she could finish what she started. Hope tried to think of a way out, but her options were severely limited. She had no weapons, and even if she did manage to find one, she had no idea how to use anything but a scalpel. Stanford didn't exactly offer an Escape from Murderous Kidnappers 101 class. _Think, Hope, think!_

Terror ripped through her as she wondered how many times something like this had happened to Sam and Dean in the six years since she'd seen them. All that time she'd spent angry beyond measure at the pain he'd caused her, believing he was a murderous bastard with no regard for the lives he ruined, when in fact it was the opposite. Sam and Dean Winchester were heroes. Hope had no idea how she'd do it, but there was no way she was going to let them fight Heather alone. They'd underestimated her sister at every turn, and Hope was the only one who really knew what Heather was thinking, or so she thought.

Hope's fingers explored the pole, feeling for a nail or something, anything she might use to cut the rope. Her wrist screamed at her to stop moving, but she gritted her teeth and kept going. Slightly below where her hands were bound, there was a tack nail jutting from the wood pole, and casting a furtive glance at Douchecanoe and Twatwaffle, Hope bent her knees, hooking the rope under the nail and went to work.

Hope couldn't tell how much time had passed when the crunch of tires on gravel caught her attention. Two vehicles, she thought, judging by the sound of it. She didn't stop moving her hands, other than to occasionally check the fraying of the rope. It was slow going, but the rope was starting to give, and Hope moved her hands faster. Wood splinters dug into the skin of her arms, pricking like tiny needles, but she ignored them. Survival was way more important than a few splinters. 

The barn doors slid open and Heather stalked in like a queen making a grand entrance. Behind her, four men half-drug, half carried an unconscious Sam and Dean. "Put the huge one over there, and tie the other one up near my sister. Make sure they both have a good view of the show, will ya?"

The men nodded, moving silently to do as they were commanded. Dean grunted as two of the men slammed him against the pole and tightly bound his wrists around the pole. He was still unconscious, his head lolling forward and to one side. Hope's gaze flickered to the other two men who were currently manhandling Sam onto the surgical table and strapping him down. Sam regained consciousness as they buckled the last restraint, and he growled in frustration as he struggled against his bonds. "Dean! Dean wake up!"

Dean groaned next to Hope, and she gazed at him with terror-filled eyes. What the hell were they going to do now? Neither of them could fight, and who knew how many injuries they sustained before Heather brought them there to—to do what, exactly? Hope realized she didn't really care what Heather was planning, and white-hot anger bubbled in Hope's chest as she kept working on the rope. 

"Thank you," Heather said to the other men. "You can go now. I'll finish up here and meet you shortly." The men looked at each other dubiously, but a single glare from Heather was all it took to end the silent questions. They all nodded, then left the barn. A few seconds later, a vehicle rumbled to life, and the sounds of crunching gravel filled the room, loud at first, then fading as the vehicle sped away. Heather glanced around the space, and Hope noticed Heather's eyes were glowing yellow now. 

_What the hell?_

"It's time to wake up Dean," Heather sing-songed, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He groaned again, opening his eyes and scowling at her.

"Eat me, bitch." He snorted, then shook his head. "Wait, you just might."

Hope stared at Dean in disbelief. How could he be so calm right now? He was literally tied up, helpless, and at the mercy of a complete psycho, and he's talking shit. Unbelievable. Heather slapped him, scraping her long, ebony claws down his cheek. Blood dripped from the scratches as Dean blinked to clear the stars from his eyes. 

"I will eat you, but I'm going to start with your brother. And I'm going to make you watch him die." Heather growled, turning toward Sam. 

Hope rechecked the frayed rope, only a few more strands now. Her wrist throbbed, sending jolts of pain up her arm, but she forced herself to keep going. 

_Not much further now. You can do this, Hope._

Hope made a slight noise to get Dean's attention, and he glanced at her with slightly glazed eyes. He was in serious pain but doing his best to push through it, and Hope decided not to think about that too hard. She glanced between Heather and behind her, showing him what she was doing. Dean nodded once, then flashed Hope a half-smile.

"Hey, bitch!" Dean shouted. "How have you even survived all of these years without Daddy Dearest, hmm? Didn't he teach you not to play with your food?"

Hope stifled a snicker as the rope finally gave way, jolting her injured wrist as she wiggled free. Hope ignored it, watching in wide-eyed horror as Heather advanced toward Dean, her silver knife gleaming in the pale moonlight. 

Heather growled, her eyes narrowing further as her claws extended. "I'm going to rip your face off."

"What are you waiting for, bitch? Time's a-wastin'." Dean tilted his head to one side, regarding Heather with a level gaze, his lips curved into that 'i-don't-give-a-shit' smirk. Hope loathed that look, having been on the receiving end of it once. As she watched him, everything about his face screamed, 'I don't care.' Everything except his eyes. His eyes gave away the fear, helplessness, and pain he tried to cover up, and Hope wondered what she would've seen that night six years ago when they parted if she'd only bothered to turn around.

Heather was within striking distance of Dean, so if Hope planned to do anything, it was now or never. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. _Here goes nothing._ She grabbed the huge hunting knife hanging from Twatwaffle's belt as she elbowed him in the face. Pain shot up her arm from the impact, and Hope gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out. She was no fighter, but part of Hope's recovery required her to take a self-defense class. Hope thought it was stupid at the time, all the self-defense knowledge in the world wouldn't have prevented what happened to her that night, but Dr. Allen insisted. 

Heather growled, turning her attention toward Hope. "Hey! I thought it was me you wanted? Don't you know it's rude to ignore your date?" Dean taunted. Hope stifled a small smile as Heather growled again, momentarily forgetting about Hope. Twatwaffle lunged at Hope, and she took a step backward, pressing the spine of the knife against her forearm as she gripped the handle for dear life. 

Twatwaffle leaped toward her, and Dean roared from somewhere behind him, although Hope couldn't tell if it was pain or rage that carried the sound. Hope swung her elbow again, this time with the blade pressed against it, aiming for his throat. The knife found its target, and he stumbled back, making gurgling noises and trying desperately to hold the gaping wound on this throat closed with his fingers. Blood seeped between them, and Hope stared down at her hands in horror. What had she done?

Sam cried out, thrashing in vain against the knife slicing diagonally across his chest, then headbutting Douchecanoe, sending him stumbling backward and tripping over the table behind him. The metal tray holding his torture tools crashed to the floor, the sound reverberating as the metal tools clanged against the wood floor.

"Kill him!" Heather demanded, and Douchecanoe picked up his hunting knife, still holding his bleeding nose as he nodded. Heather tightened her grip on her knife, baring her teeth as she moved toward where Dean remained bound and helpless, and he positioned the knife above Sam's heart, readying himself for the kill, blood dripping down his chin from his broken nose, courtesy of Sam. 

The air left the space around Hope as she watched the scene unfolding before her. In a matter of moments, the two people that mattered most to her—mattered most to the world—would die at the hands of her own psycho sister and some nameless, faceless minion. Dean may never love her the way she loved him, but at that moment, that was okay. Hope had always believed her purpose was to help make the world a better place and saving Sam and Dean was how she could accomplish that—regardless of what came after. 

Hope took a deep breath, adjusting her grip on the knife, then charged toward Sam's attacker. She let out a guttural cry as the knife sank into the man's skin, finding the space between his ribs easily. Hope pushed harder, gritting her teeth as a growl escaped her mouth when the hilt of the knife hit bone. Sam's attacker cried out in surprise, weakly trying to fight her off as she held on, twisting the knife and pulling it out in one motion. 

"Are you okay?" Hope asked, nodding to Sam as she cut his binds and held out a hand as Douchecanoe fell lifeless to the floor. 

"Y-Yeah, I think so," he said, staring back at her in wide-eyed surprise, as he took Hope's outstretched arm to sit up before she turned toward Heather. 

"Heather!" Hope snarled, stomping toward her sister. Heather turned slowly, watching Hope approach through narrowed yellow eyes. "This ends now!"

"No! This ends when these two are dead!" Heather shot back. "They murdered our father, Hope! Doesn't that matter to you?" Hope paused, saying nothing as she caught movement in the shadows nearby. Sam. 

"Not really," Hope admitted, glaring at Heather. "You were always dad's favorite, although I guess I can see why now. You two have _so much_ in common, don't you?" Hope stepped sideways, forcing Heather's gaze to follow her as Sam moved silently through the shadows behind Heather toward Dean.

Heather stared at Hope incredulously. "Are you serious right now? These two fuckwits turned me into this! They murdered dad and tried to kill me, and you just keep saving them! Why, Hope? Just tell me how you can help them after they've destroyed our family?"

Hope sighed, running her free hand down her face, uncurling and curling her fingers around the knife handle with the other. 

"Heather, they didn't turn you into anything. You were always a monster, like dad." Hope spoke softly, picking her words carefully. "I mean Dead killed Mom because of what you two are!"

Heather froze, uncertainty and guilt flashing across her face, disappearing an instant later. Hope tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Sam was behind Dean now, fumbling to untie the rope that bound him. "It wasn't Dad, was it? _You_ killed Mom! Why, Heather?"

Silence fell across the barn, the tension hanging in the air like a thick, wet blanket. "I had to," Heather said at last. "You wouldn't have come home otherwise, and you were what was keeping me human, Hope."

"Oh, no," Hope seethed, clenching her teeth. "You _murdered_ our mother! You don't get to put that guilt on me! You knew full well what you were doing!"

"And _they_ murdered our father!" Heather exploded, taking a small step toward Dean and gesturing toward him with the knife. Hope matched her movement, and Heather shook her head. "Why do they deserve to live? Why do you defend them, Hope?"

_Because I love him. No matter what he's said or done, I will always love him._

Hope didn't answer, and Heather lowered the knife for a moment, then scoffed. "Wait, you don't actually think—" A wicked smile spread across Heather's face and her yellow eyes glinted with malice. "Oh, that's adorable."

Hope said nothing, grateful it was dark where she stood and no one could see the fiery blush that blazed up from her neck and heated her whole body. "Shut up," Hope fumed.

"Aw, did I touch a nerve there, sis?" Heather cooed. "Sorry about that, but someone had to say it. He doesn't give a damn about you, Hope. After tonight, no matter what happens, you'll never see him again." Hope swallowed, unable to form words around the rock lodged in the bottom of her throat. "He will _never_ love you. You are too pathetic and broken for anyone to love, especially him! Not that it matters, because he'll be dead!"

Sam pulled the last of the knots free and helped Dean to his feet as Heather lunged toward him, knife aimed for his heart. Without a second thought, Hope jumped between them, sputtering wordlessly as the knife punctured her chest. Heather grabbed her by the arm, her other hand still gripping the knife. 

"Why?" Heather said, choking back a sob as Hope's eyes filled with tears as blood ran from one corner of her mouth. "Why would you do such a thing, Hope?"

"Maybe he doesn't give a damn about me, but I love that stubborn son of a bitch with everything I am," Hope choked, spitting a glob of blood near Heather's feet. "And I won't let you hurt either of them anymore. I'm sorry, Heather." Hope wrapped her arms around her sister in one last hug as she drove the knife into Heather's kidney, severing the artery. Heather's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in shock as she stumbled backward, crashing to the floor.

Hope forced herself to stay upright as Heather's life left her eyes. She couldn't believe what she'd done but felt a small sense of relief as well. Guilt followed close behind, and Heather glanced down at the floor, noticing the knife sticking out of her chest for the first time. 

"Uh, guys? A little help here?" Hope stumbled, falling into Dean's outstretched arms. It was getting harder to breathe, and Hope was almost certain that Heather's knife nicked her aorta. Dean moved to take the knife out of Hope's chest, but she weakly grabbed his wrist. "Don't," she groaned. He stared down into her eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. She coughed, turning her head as blood droplets flew through the air. "I'll die if you do. I'm probably going to die either way."

Dean stared at her in helpless confusion as she reached up to stroke his stubbled jaw. "Thank you," she whispered, coughing again. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes, and Dean felt his own cheeks grow wet as memories of the kiss the two of them shared on Hope's bedroom floor the night they met flooded his mind. He brushed away the loose strands of hair around her face, his fingers brushing the skin of her face. Her mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile as her eyelids fluttered closed. 

Overcome with fear and panic, Dean gripped Hope tighter in his arms. He could still feel her heart beating, but it was slowing. "Cas?!" He yelled, the sound of his voice echoing off the rafters of the barn. "Cas! I need you, Hope is dying!" 

There was no answer, no telltale fluttering of fabric, no indication Castiel had heard Dean's prayer at all. He had heard it, though, and he was there, watching over them. Castiel questioned the order not to interfere with the unfolding events, although he would not openly defy them. "Dammit Cas, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, turning his attention to Sam.

"We gotta get her to a hospital, like yesterday," Dean said. Sam nodded and without a word, searched the dead bodies to find the keys to the SUV that brought them here. 

"You got her?" Sam asked, pulling the knife from Heather's back as he stepped over her body. 

"I'll manage," Dean said, grimacing as he got to his feet. His ribs hurt like hell and his head was throbbing, but Hope needed him, so his pain didn't matter right now. He scooped her up into his arms, trying with all his might to not move the knife. "Let's go."

They made a dash for the barn doors, Sam shoving them open with all his strength as Dean ran through, headed for the SUV. Sam pulled the back door open, and together they maneuvered Hope into the back seat, then he climbed into the driver's seat. Dean ran around to the opposite side, and to Sam's surprise, he didn't get in the front seat, but instead got into the back and cradled Hope's head in his lap, stroking her hair.

Sam stared at Dean for a moment, forgetting for an instant what he was doing. "Dammit, Sam! Stop staring and fucking drive!" Dean bellowed. Sam swallowed, remembering his purpose. He started the car, threw it into gear and stomped on the gas as he cut the wheel, slinging gravel and dirt behind them as they sped away from the abandoned barn toward Lawrence Memorial Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> draguta mea - "my pretty" in Romanian


	10. Someone to Watch Over Me

Dean jumped out of the vehicle before Sam stopped it completely, racing for the sliding doors labeled EMERGENCY and barging through them with his heart lodged in his throat and his pulse galloping in his ears. He tried to force himself to focus, but all his mind could do was see Hope laid across the backseat of the SUV with a hunting knife lodged in the left side of her chest. How could he possibly think of anything else? Hope’s breath was labored and shallow, her skin was clammy and had turned the color of ash, and he’d been able to do nothing to help her; he could only cradle her head in his lap, stroking her hair and doing the best he could to keep her still as Sam drove the stolen SUV like a bat out of hell the whole way to the hospital. If Dean was in a better place mentally, he might’ve been impressed with Sammy’s driving skills. “Help! I need some help out here!”

Loretta’s head snapped up, stopping mid-sentence at the sound of Dean’s baritone voice echoing down the emergency room corridor. Her current conversation was forgotten; she bolted around the side of the nurse’s station desk, running toward him. “What is it? What’s happened?” She forced herself to remain outwardly calm, but her insides were turning to mush as her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.

Dean pointed toward the automatic sliding doors and the black SUV parked on the other side of it with the passenger door standing wide open. Tears stung his eyes, and he found himself unable to speak as he pressed his palms to his temples, lacing his fingers across the top of his head as he closed his eyes, wishing away the memory of Heather stabbing Hope and her falling into his arms. Loretta glanced in the direction he pointed, her heart slamming into her throat when she saw Hope’s sandy blonde hair hanging out of the open door and dancing in the slight breeze. She glanced from Dean to Hope’s body, then back to Dean, who ran his hands down his face and shook his head at her silent questions. 

“I need you to tell me everything you know about her condition, Dean,” Lorreta said, taking him by the elbows and forcing him to look at her. He shook his head again, unable to form coherent thoughts at the moment, let alone words or sentences. Hope’s last words to Heather replayed in his head repeatedly, his mind trying and refusing to make sense of them.  _“Maybe he doesn’t give a damn about me, but I love that stubborn son of a bitch with everything I am.”_ Hope loved him? Really loved him? When the hell had that happened? _How_ the hell had that happened? 

“Dean! Focus!” Loretta shook him firmly, and he shook his head again, blinking as though he’d forgotten she was there. Sam directed the two doctors that ran past them with a gurney toward the vehicle, and Dean watched them move her limp, almost lifeless body from the car. A low sound escaped his lips at the sight of her, and Loretta snapped her fingers in his face, drawing his attention back to her.

“Yeah, uh, yeah.” Dean cleared his throat, then tried again. “It was Heather. Heather, uh, stabbed her,” he swallowed hard, forcing himself to go on, “in the heart. Or at least really close to it. Heather was coming after me, and Hope, she just—” Dean stopped short as the doctors ran by again, barking orders to nurses and orderlies as they bypassed triage and headed straight for the operating rooms. The front of Hope’s robe was stained crimson with her blood, and her head lolled slightly with the movement of the wheeled stretcher as they rounded the corner out of sight. 

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to get his shit together. This wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen someone—what was it Hope used to say? _Dance with Death._ He’d watched so many people die in his lifetime—Dad, Sam, Jo, Ellen. Hell, he’d even seen Cas die a couple times. But none of them, not a single one, had evoked this sort of visceral reaction from him, except Sam. Sam’s death had nearly broken him all those years ago, sending him spiraling out of his mind with grief. He’d done the unthinkable then to bring Sam back from the clutches of Death, and for the first time since Cas pulled him out of Hell, Dean considered doing it again. He was certain he could endure all the pain and torture of Hell for eternity if it meant that Hope would live a long, normal life, but the thought of never seeing her face again was as unbearable as losing Sam had been. 

Loretta let him go, nodding to Sam as he came and stood next to Dean, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulders and guiding Dean to the waiting rooms. Dean shuffled along next to Sam, staring at nothing. Sam pointed Dean toward some chairs, and Dean sat down stiffly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He thought about praying, but who would he pray to, Cas? If Cas gave a damn, he would have answered his call before, and Hope wouldn’t be clinging to life by a thread now. 

“Hey, uh,” Sam started, clearing his throat to get Dean’s attention. Dean didn’t lift his head; he just couldn’t find the strength to do it right now. He was so impossibly tired, and he just didn’t have it in him to keep going. Not if it meant going on without her. “I’m gonna go to the cafeteria and get some coffee, you want anything?”

Dean shook his head, his hands still covering his face. He took a deep breath, lifting his head and letting one hand drop as the other rubbed down his face and rested across his mouth. Sam nodded, standing up to head out the door, but Dean’s voice stopped him in the doorway. “Sam?” Sam turned back to face Dean, swallowing the rock lodged in the bottom of his throat at the utterly lost look on Dean’s face. 

“Yeah?”

“I told her she was just a job to me.” Dean paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I told her it wasn’t personal and I’d forget her as soon as I left this hospital. Those were the last words she heard from me that night. I broke her heart, Sam, and she almost died—and I never would’ve known it until I banged on her door and she didn’t answer. How could I do that to her?” 

He dropped his hand from his face, hanging his head between his shoulders and staring at the floor as guilt washed over him by the bucketful. “I _lied_ to her, Sam. I tore her heart to shreds all those years ago and now, without even hesitating, she jumped between me and Heather. I don’t know how to do this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to her.”

Sam sighed, mildly unsure of what Dean meant by she almost died, then he remembered Hope’s words to him. She’d _tried_ to die after they’d left town all those years ago. He shook his head, and deciding against the coffee, he loped across the room in a few long strides to take a seat next to Dean. Sam didn’t speak; he had no words to give Dean the comfort he needed. The only thing he could offer now was a steadying presence, so that’s exactly what he did. 

Sam had always known Dean loved Hope, even though Dean stubbornly refused to admit it, but somehow Sam was still surprised when he saw glimpses of the true depth of those feelings. The instances had been few and far between, but there were enough. The ghost of a smile crossed Sam’s face as he remembered the dozens of nights he’d woken to an empty motel room, only to look out the window and see Dean outside, sitting in the Impala, staring wistfully at the screen of one of his many cell phones.

After the first time it happened, Sam was confused and more than a bit curious, and the instant Dean left him alone in the car, Sam searched through the glove compartment like a fiend. He was shocked to learn the phone Dean treasured more than anything other than Sam, of course, was chock full of photos and crappy videos of Dean and Hope from the three months they’d spent together before everything went to hell. Sam had never seen such cheesy, chick-flick crap in his entire life, except for when he and Jessica were together, and at the time, that realization had brought him both happiness and heartache. 

Sam never mentioned it, but he saw more light in Dean’s eyes in those photos and videos from six years ago than there ever had been any other time before or since. It was only there, in those photos and videos where Dean and Hope were making faces and being ridiculous, did he see Dean truly _happy._ Even now, Dean still said that spending time in the car on the road with Sam, doing what they do—that was the only life he wanted or needed. That may have been true once, but since they met Hope, Sam sensed Dean wasn’t as convinced about it anymore. 

Dean sighed next to him, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. He glanced sideways at his brother, at a loss for what to say, so he didn’t say anything, waiting for Dean to break the silence. When he didn’t, Sam leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and stretching his legs, crossing them at the ankles as he folded his arms across his chest. 

_“Maybe he doesn’t give a damn about me, but I love that stubborn son of a bitch with everything I am.”_

Dean sensed Sam was waiting for him to say something, but Hope’s words ricocheted around his head, making it impossible to _think_. It was on an endless loop, raising more questions than he had answers for. He knew why Hope believed he didn’t give a damn about her; that was his own fault. He’d done that to her. And if he really thought about it, he knew she didn’t hate him anymore, although he assumed she didn’t hate him any less either. But he wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love, _especially_ not hers, not after the things he’d done. He chuckled slightly to himself, shaking his head as he stared down at his hands hanging limply between his knees. Sam opened one eye and gave Dean a quizzical look, then closed it again. 

“If she dies, Sam—” Dean started, shaking his head and clearing his throat in an attempt to dispel the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

“I know, Dean,” Sam said. He thought about saying something else, but he knew Dean well enough to know he’d see it for the meaningless platitude it would be, so he said nothing. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen! Hope wasn’t even supposed to know we were here!” Dean stood and paced the empty waiting area, running his hands through his hair and trying to focus on anything other than Hope lying on an operating table fighting for her life because he’d failed to kill Heather. Again. 

Sam’s eyes followed Dean as he placed the floor, vibrating with restless energy. Dean looked like a caged, starving animal, ready to chew the face off any poor suspecting soul who happened to get too close. “You know I’m here if you want to talk, right?” Sam said. 

“Thanks Dr. Phil,” Dean snapped, not looking at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, expecting that answer. “Why would Cas do this?”

“Do what?” Sam frowned, uncrossing his ankles and leaning forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Cas could have healed you that night; he could’ve healed me too, but he didn’t. And for that matter, it was your idea to go to her in the first place!” Dean stopped pacing, turning to glare at Sam. “Why? If we’d never gone there…” His voice trailed off, and he stood still in the middle of the room, drowning in guilt and despair. 

“Dean,” Sam chuckled softly. “There are some things even Cas can’t heal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded. He didn’t like where Sam was going with this. At all. 

“I think you know.” Sam gave his brother a knowing look, which was answered with narrowed eyes.

“No, I don’t, or else I wouldn’t have asked,” Dean said, exhaling sharply through his nose. “That’s how questions work, Sam.”

Sam snorted, then looked toward the door as a nurse walked by out in the hallway. “I know how questions work, Dean. I’ve been asking myself the same one for the last six years.”

“Oh, really? And what question might that be?” Dean said. The pit of his stomach opened up, threatening to swallow him whole at Sam’s reply. Anxiety washed over him like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, and he stood frozen as Sam watched him. 

“I get that we had to leave town, and it probably was—” Sam paused, searching for the right word, “easier somehow, I guess, to end it the way you did, but was it necessary?” Sam replied, giving Dean a pointed stare. 

And there it was. Silence fell between them as they both contemplated the answer. Dean resumed his pacing, stopping at the window occasionally to stare out to the parking lot below. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember, that night in this same hospital when he ripped her heart out. Even after all this time and Cas’s application of angelic Novacaine, Dean still couldn’t forget the look in her eyes when he’d said those horrible things to her. 

Dean believed with all his soul he was doing the right thing at the time, for many reasons, and did a damn good job masking his own pain, or so he thought. He’d told himself it was for her safety, that the further away she was from this life, _his_ life, the better. He may have broken both their hearts, but at least she’d live a long life. That was what was important—right?

Dean cleared his throat, placing his hands on the metal frame around the window as he leaned into it. “It _was_ necessary, Sam. I needed to know she was safe here without us. If something happened-”

“Something did happen, Dean!” Sam raised his voice, and Dean glanced over his shoulder toward him. “You! You happened!”

“The hell are you talking about?” Dean frowned, then shrugged, pretending like he didn’t know exactly what Sam meant. 

Sam let out a soft growl of frustration as he ran a hand down the length of his face. “Did you even notice that even after all this time, she lives alone—with a damn cat of all things? Speaking of which, you don’t seem to be allergic, wonder why that is. Anyway, my point is, she never moved on with her life. When I was in her office, there were pictures everywhere—of her parents, Heather, her graduation, but there were none of her with a man. Almost every picture of Heather had a man in them.”

“Maybe she’s not into dudes.” Dean shrugged as Sam shot him an ‘are you stupid’ look. 

“Yeah—no,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “All I’m saying is that you and her were drawn together for reasons none of us understand, and you chose to throw it all away without even admitting to anyone, especially not Hope, how you feel. Hell, you won’t even admit it to yourself.” 

Silence fell across the room once more as Dean clenched his jaw, then closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the glass window pane, marveling at how cool the glass was against his skin. Sam was right, although Dean would never admit it out loud. He hadn’t six years ago when Sam asked, why should he start now? His feelings for Hope didn’t matter; what mattered was keeping her safe and away from doing idiotic things like jumping in front of a blade meant for him. 

“I know about the cell phone,” Sam said in a low voice, knowing it could possibly be the last sentence he ever uttered. He’d known for a long time that Dean would probably lose it if he found out Sam knew but now seemed like the best chance he’d have to get Dean to talk about it. 

Dean’s shoulders went rigid, then relaxed slightly as he turned away from the window toward Sam. Sam swallowed at the murderous look glinting in Dean’s eyes as he glared at him. “Careful, Sam. You don’t want to go there.”

“Why?” Sam shot back. “Why is it so hard for you to admit you’re in love with her and have been this whole time?” Sam glared back at Dean, silently demanding an answer. When Dean pressed his lips together and turned away, Sam took it as a cue to keep pressing, knowing it would either end with Dean finally admitting the truth or punching Sam in the face. 

“Seriously, Dean, being in love with her, or anyone for that matter, isn’t some shameful secret you have to carry to your grave,” Sam said, lowering his voice. Dean’s shoulders slumped, exhausted from the weight of the entire world settled there. 

“It is.” The words almost echoed through the empty room, cutting through the tense silence that settled between the two of them. Sam tilted his head, studying Dean’s reflection in the window, considering and discarding several responses before settling on a single question.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve it!” Dean said, turning and glaring at Sam, his hands balled at his sides. After a few tense moments, Dean uncurled his fists and stared at the floor in front of him. “I don’t deserve her.”

Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Sam heard it just the same. Sam stared at Dean in disbelief for a few moments, his features softening. That’s what this was about? “Dean, listen—”

“No, Sam!” Dean snapped, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “Just drop it, alright? It’s not important right now. What’s important is that Hope survives this!”

“Of course it is,” Sam replied softly. “But what happens when she does? Are you just going to walk away from her—again? Hope, the only woman I know of who willingly got stabbed in the heart— _for you_. Because if that’s what you’re thinking, then you’re damn right. You don’t deserve her.” 

Sam stood up and left the room, pausing at the door to take a deep breath and glance over his shoulder at his brother. Dean was staring out the window again, the rays of the early morning sun shining through the glass and surrounding him like a golden halo. His big brother, who he’d always looked up to and seemed to be larger than life most of the time, suddenly seemed so tired and alone. Hope was good for Dean, Sam could easily see that, and they deserved to be happy. He only wished Dean could see it too. “I’m going to get some coffee,” Sam said, resting his hand on the doorframe. “I’ll be back soon.”

Dean didn’t reply, just continued to stare out the window, but he felt Sam leave the doorway without turning around. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the glass again and letting his mind wander into the dark places in his mind he tried to ignore, where all his inner demons came out to play. He was embarrassed and furious that Sam knew about the phone, although he wasn’t really surprised. He wasn’t great at keeping secrets from Sam, but he thought he had at least that one thing that was only his. 

“Cas?” Dean said in a low voice. “Cas, I want you to listen to me very closely. If Hope dies because you didn’t bother to come when I called, I’ll never forgive you, you son of a bitch. Do you hear me?”

There was no answer, and Dean rolled his eyes, wondering why he expected anything different. What he didn’t know was that Castiel had heard his call, but at the moment, he was more than a bit occupied with making sure that Hope didn’t, in fact, die.

~~~~~

Castiel stood in the corner of the operating room where they’d rushed Hope, invisible to everyone as he watched the controlled chaos of the team of doctors and nurses working to try and save her life. He shook his head sadly, knowing that as soon as they removed the blade from her chest, it would be over for her, and once again, he questioned why he wasn’t allowed to save Hope. If this was supposed to be Gods ‘bigger plan’ for the both of them, he failed to understand the reason for any of it. Castiel knew whatever his superiors wanted to set into motion with Hope’s death would only have the opposite effect on the Winchesters. 

He’d gotten to know Dean well over the last few years, probably better than Dean knew himself at times, and the one thing that Cas knew beyond a doubt was if you wanted Dean Winchester’s cooperation, _killing_ those he loved was not the way to get it. _Threatening_ almost always worked, but outright killing people Dean loved just made him more than willing to douse the planet in gasoline, strike a match, then sit back and watch the world burn; not lifting a finger to stop it.

When Castiel thought about it, it all made sense. Dean _had_ managed to stop Sam from raising Lucifer a few years ago and averting the apocalypse altogether. The world now was relatively safe, and life was simply more of the same for Sam and Dean, just the two of them on the road, saving people and hunting things. The people of Earth were none the wiser about what _almost_ happened to their world and everyone was happy. Everyone, that is, except the angels who felt that God had intended the apocalypse to happen, and made it their mission to make sure those perceived wishes were realized. If that meant there was collateral damage along the way, so be it.

Castiel had seen the future where Dean failed to stop Sam, and what came after was a world he knew he couldn’t live in. It was a world of darkness and despair, one where both Castiel and the Winchesters fought neverending wars on both Heaven and Earth. He’d fallen from Heaven’s grace for them in that world, and now, as he questioned the orders he’d been given, Castiel wondered if he was fated to fall no matter what world he lived in. But right now, in this moment, he could think of no better reason for what he was about to do, other than exactly what Dean and Sam had taught him. No matter what, he had to do the right thing, and he’d face the consequences, whatever they were, knowing it was all worth it.

Castiel’s attention returned to Hope, and he watched as a surgeon took the handle of the hunting knife in his gloved hands, the fingers of one hand curling around and resting on top of the other. The surgeon swallowed hard, nodding toward a second doctor. The second doctor held a laser, ready and waiting to cauterize the artery the moment the blade moved out of the way. Without realizing he’d made a decision at all, Castiel moved to stand near Hope’s head, watching intently. 

“One...Two...Three,” the surgeon said as he began to pull the knife straight up at a snail’s pace. He’d moved the blade about a half inch and all the monitors attached to Hope went off at once, the bleeps and beeps of alarms sending everyone in the room into a frenzied panic. Castiel pressed two fingers to Hope’s forehead, steadying her heart rate and breathing, and the surgeons focused once more on removing the blade. He knew he could have healed Hope completely, just as he could have healed Sam and Dean, preventing them from going to Hope at all, but he’d been instructed not to do so, for reasons he still had yet to understand.

Castiel was dimly aware that he would face punishment for interfering even this much, but it didn’t matter right now. It was wrong to manipulate Dean using Hope’s life as collateral, and he wanted no part of it. The surgeon pulled the knife free, and the second immediately went to work with the laser, cauterizing the nicked artery. Once it looked like the surgeon succeeded, Castiel removed his fingers from Hope’s forehead, only for her vital signs to nosedive and set off the alarms again. 

“We’ve got a bleeder! Find it!” The first surgeon demanded as the second one used gloved fingers to touch the artery and veins, closing his eyes to imagine and feel for anything unusual.

Castiel watched anxiously and he was about to touch Hope’s head again when the surgeon’s eyes popped open. “There!” He said aloud, then went to work with the laser, and Castiel let out a silent breath as Hope’s vital signs stabilized. 

“Alright, let’s get her closed up,” the first surgeon said, readying his instruments. Castiel retreated back into the corner of the operating room, still invisible to the others and watching over Hope as though his very life depended on it. He considered going to Dean, but decided it would be best to stay and make sure Hope’s condition remained stable. 

After tying off the last stitch and setting down the instruments, the doctor looked up, glancing around the room at the other staff members. “Great job, everyone. It’s not every day we get the chance to save one of our own. Someone was watching over her today.” 

He paused, turning toward the scrub nurse standing next to him. “Loretta, please let the people who brought her in know she’s stable and we’ll move her to recovery as soon as possible.”

The nurse nodded, turning to leave the room and Castiel watched as she discarded her gown and gloves at the nearest biohazard bin, then practically sprinted for the surgery waiting rooms. He wanted more than anything to go to Dean now, to let him know that Hope would be alright, but he was being summoned to Heaven, and he could not ignore that call. He was in enough trouble as it was. 

~~~~~

Sam jumped up from the chair he’d been lounging in when Loretta appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. Dean still stood by the window, wandering around deep inside his head, which was never a good place for him to spend a lot of time. He turned at Sam’s movement, his eyes growing wide at the sight of Loretta. He waited, his face a mask of apprehension and hope as he studied her, trying to guess what she’d say.

“Hope made it through the surgery,” Loretta said, flashing them a relieved smile. “It was touch and go a couple of times, but she’s strong. They’re going to move her to recovery soon. I’ll let you know when you can see her.” 

Dean’s breath left him in a rush, and he was overcome with relief. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words to express his gratitude. He crossed the room in several long strides and wrapped his arms around a very surprised scrub nurse. “Thank you,” he whispered as he let her go. “Thank you.”

Loretta’s look of surprise faded, and she took a step back, gazing at Dean with soft eyes. “Don’t thank me, honey. Hope almost died on that operating table, and by all accounts, she should have. Where that knife was, nobody could survive that, I don’t care how good of a surgeon they had working on them, and Hope had the best. I’m telling you, Angels are watching over that girl, no doubt about it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said thoughtfully from behind them. “No doubt about it.”


	11. Dreams

Hope watched from somewhere above as another version of herself stood, waiting, on the front porch of a house she didn't recognize. Dean's Impala pulled into the driveway, its rumbling exhaust oddly soothing to Hope as she watched the scene playing before her eyes. Dean climbed out of the car, the driver door creaking like it always did, and Hope felt an odd sense of peace when she saw his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he grinned at her, then he turned and opened the back door, chuckling to himself as a set of twins, a boy and girl, climbed out, giggling at something Dean said as they ran toward her. 

Dean climbed the porch steps behind the kids, pausing to take Hope into his arms and kiss her softly as the sounds of the children laughing and playing inside the house floated around them. "Hey, sweetheart," he said. 

"Hey yourself," Hope said, turning her face up to him with a small smile. "How were Sam and Mel?"

"They're good. It was great to see them," Dean said, his face taking on a soft, faraway expression. "Charlie is getting so big, he's walking now. Sam and Mel said hi. They miss you."

Hope smiled, laying her head on Dean's chest. "I miss them too. I wanted to be there, but my shift ran long."

Dean kissed the side of her head, turning them to go into the house. "It's alright, they understand."

This feeling of being outside herself, of watching these events unfold before her eyes left Hope confused and disoriented as one scene faded, replaced by another. The pattern continued this way; kids' Birthday parties and family Christmases, Sam & Mel's wedding, Bobby's funeral—although Hope realized as she watched she had no idea who Bobby was, only that he seemed very important to Sam and Dean—Sunday dinners and movie nights, all flashing in front of her like a movie stuck on fast forward. 

The four of them, Hope and Dean, Sam and Mel, all living everyday, happy lives. There was no heartache or loss beyond what an average person would see in their lifetime. Dean wasn't a hunter; neither was Sam. In fact, the two of them co-owned a bar and grill just outside of town called The Roadhouse, where Mel worked as a bartender. Hope was still a doctor, and somewhere in some dark corner of her mind, she wondered if even her subconscious didn't know how to be anything else. 

Hope couldn't decide if these images were glimpses of her past, her future, or her subconscious was just messing with her like it always did. The only thing she knew for sure was that none of these visions were real. Dean already haunted her dreams most nights, but they were nothing like this. Those dreams were erratic and nonsensical, bordering on nightmarish at times; these dreams actually felt more like _memories_. How was that even possible? What kind of world existed where Sam and Dean had anything remotely in the same universe as a normal life? Confusion clouded her vision as the scenes before her faded from view, leaving her enveloped in darkness. She was alone and afraid, stumbling around without any idea of where to go.

There, in the distance, was the tiniest pinprick of light, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, unable to resist its glow. It burned steady and even, growing bigger and brighter as she got closer, stretching and morphing into many shapes before settling on one Hope recognized. Dean. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, sending goosebumps across almost every part of her body. 

"Hey yourself," she replied. Once again Hope watched the greeting as a spectator, trying and failing to make sense of what she was seeing. She willed herself to wake up, but she just couldn't seem to make her mind and body cooperate. 

"Where were you?" Dean asked, brushing his lips across her cheek in a light kiss that made her shiver and left her body aching for more. "I've been waiting for you."

Hope frowned as she tried to answer Dean's question, finding she had no real answer to give him. "I don't know. I guess I got lost." her voice sounded small and unsure, and Hope's irritation with her dream self grew exponentially, although her annoyance abated slightly when Dean wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her head. 

"It's okay, sweetheart. No matter what happens, we'll always find each other. I promise." Dean said, pulling her gently into his embrace and burying his face in her hair as though he feared he'd never see her again. "I love you, Hope. Always." What the hell was happening? Dean would never say those things to her, not ever, and it made Hope restless and uneasy to hear them. 

The scene changed again, jarring Hope's senses as nausea and panic washed over her in alternating waves. This time, they were standing inside their destroyed home. It looked like a firebomb had been dropped, leaving the structure around them charred and smoldering. There was a weight to their movements now, their expressions jaded and weary. Hope sensed in this lifetime they fought endless battles side by side in a war that would stretch over eons and rage on into eternity, long after their two souls left the mortal plane.

The sky above them blazed with streaks of fire and ash as Dean turned to Hope with tears in his eyes, blinking as they spilled down his cheeks as he reached down into the wreckage beneath their feet, picking up a half-burnt, floppy-eared stuffed rabbit. He stroked the singed fur on the front of the toy, shaking his head in despair. "It's time to end this, Hope. They won't get away with murdering our children. I will burn Heaven and Earth if I have to, I don't care."

"You're not going alone," Hope replied, gazing up at him as her own tears fell. She covered his hands with her own, and together they clutched the stuffed animal and mourned the loss of their family. "We'll avenge them, and we'll do it together, just like we have everything else."

"I love you. More than you will ever know." He reached out, brushing her cheek with his fingertips, wiping away the tears that flowed in tiny rivers down her face.

 _Wake up!_ Hope buried her face in her hands, trying to escape the utter devastation etched into the lines of Dean's face as she watched the two of them together. Hope pulled her hands away from her own face, marveling at the wetness on her fingertips as she screamed at herself again to wake up.

~~~~~

The magazine he’d been trying and failing to read fell to the floor in a flutter of paper as Dean jerked himself awake, glancing up from the chair where he dozed next to Hope's hospital bed. As soon as Loretta told him Hope was being moved to a recovery room, Dean was there, refusing to leave Hope's side except when Sam insisted he shower and change his bloody, torn clothing. Even then, he'd adamantly refused to go anywhere until Sam swore he'd watch over her. 

_"Nobody gets near her, Sam! Promise me!"_ Dean hated how panicky his voice sounded in his memory, and Sam mercifully didn't mention it as he nodded in agreement and practically shoved Dean through the door of the bathroom. That was three days ago.

Hope's vital signs remained stable, and according to her doctor—Dean couldn't remember his name, Hope's brain activity was almost off the charts. The doctor said it was only a matter of time before she regained consciousness, but after three days, Dean was beginning to wonder if she actually would. He yawned, standing up and pacing the floor beside the bed, occasionally staring out the window. Sam had disappeared somewhere over an hour before, most likely to find something to eat, or maybe some coffee. Why the hell didn't the hospital have a whiskey dispenser in the waiting areas? _That_ seemed more useful to Dean than coffee at the moment.

Hope moaned softly, and Dean returned to his seat next to her bed. Without a second thought, he covered her hand with his, then reached up and brushed her hair away from her face. He frowned as he withdrew his hand, the tips of his fingers damp. He glanced from his fingers to her face, watching as a tear slipped out the corner of each eye and rolled down her cheek. Panic gripped him as he wondered what she was seeing, wishing he could help her somehow.

Dean crumpled into the chair behind him, not letting go of Hope's hand. If he couldn't be there to protect her inside her nightmares, he at least hoped she'd know he was there waiting for her when she woke up. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, absently rubbing his fingers across his forehead as he squeezed Hope's hand. "C'mon, Hope. You gotta wake up, I _need_ you to wake up." 

Sam appeared in the doorway carrying two bags of food, nodding to Dean as he set them down on the wheeled bedside table. "How is she?" he asked in a low voice, his brows knitted together as he glanced between Hope and Dean.

"She's crying, Sam. Look." Dean reached out and touched Hope's cheek again, catching a tear on his fingertip and holding it up for Sam to see. Dean stared at Hope, just as he had for the past three days, his mind wandering into all kinds of places he'd rather not visit. The few times he had dozed off in the chair beside her, he'd woken suddenly from vivid dreams that played like movies on double speed and stuck in a loop, and every time he'd been holding onto her hand. 

_What the hell is happening to me?_

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Huh." Unsure of what else to say, he started emptying the bags onto the bedside table. 

"Huh? That's all you got?" Dean asked, staring at Sam across the bed and trying to force himself to not get angry. It wasn't Sam's fault, he knew that, but Dean couldn't help but feel irritated with him anyway. After all, it was Sam's suggestion for Dean to meet Hope in the first place. If Sam hadn't suggested that one thing, nothing that came after would've happened, he told himself, and he believed it. Mostly.

 _Is that really what you'd want?_ A little voice echoed from somewhere in his mind. Dean swallowed hard, forgetting Sam for the moment as he gazed at Hope's sleeping face. _Didn't think so._

"Yeah, Dean, that's all I got," Sam replied, shaking his head. "I'm not a damn neurologist." He picked up one of the wrapped burgers from the table, then stalked to the other chair in the corner of the room.

Dean shook his head, glancing over the bed at Sam and reaching for the other burger. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just—"

"You're worried. I get it, I am too." Sam took a bite of his food, taking the opportunity to study Dean's face in profile. The dark smudges beneath his eyes seemed to get more pronounced by the minute now, and Sam wondered how much longer Dean could go before he landed himself in a hospital bed of his very own. "She saved my life, twice. I owe her everything."

"Yeah, well, if Cas had saved you the first time Hope might not be laying here now." Dean's words were clipped, and the razor-sharp edge in his tone was undeniable. "And where the hell is he anyway? He picked a hell of a time to ditch us."

Sam frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Dean, what if—what if Cas really couldn't heal us that night?"

"He could, Sam," Dean snapped, angry all over again at the memory. "If he had enough angel juice to heal us after Hope had done all the heavy lifting, he could've done it before. He just _didn't_."

"But—and just hear me out, okay?" Sam said, putting his half-eaten burger down on the table and holding his hands up in a 'don't shoot me' gesture. Dean glared at him but said nothing as he took another bite of his burger. He hadn't realized he was absolutely starving until he'd taken the first bite, so for the moment, he'd let Sam say his piece, at least until the food was gone. "What if he really couldn't heal us, like he couldn't take away the memories you and Hope have of each other?"

"That makes no sense, Sam. I mean, he healed us completely like twelve hours later. What changed?" Dean said, frowning at his burger as he took another bite. He shook his head as he chewed. This was definitely one of the more insane theories Sam had come up within the history of oh— _ever_.

Sam shrugged, sitting down again and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Okay, forget couldn't, what if he was told not to heal us?"

"Once again, the question remains. Why? What difference would it make if he healed us then, or hours later? What changed?"

"Hope opened the door," Sam said quietly, tipping his chin toward her. Dean stopped chewing, staring at Sam like he'd lost his mind. None of what Sam said made a single bit of sense. Why would it matter if Hope opened the door?

"So, let me get this straight," Dean said, crumpling up the burger wrapper and tossing it in the nearby trash can. "You think Cas was 'allowed' to heal us, _because_ Hope opened the door?" He paused, shaking his head. "Wow, now my head hurts."

"I don't know exactly," Sam replied, rubbing a hand down his face. "But remember what I told you? Cas said the two of you are bound somehow. What if—"

Dean snorted, shaking his head again. "No, Sam. That whole soulmates thing is bullshit, end of story. Fate doesn't get to decide my life, I do!"

"Are you absolutely sure about that, Dean?" Sam replied, his tone thoughtful. He glanced from Dean to Hope and back again, gritting his teeth and swallowing as he tried to gather his thoughts. Dean gave him his best' fuck off' glare, but the more he thought about it, the less his words made sense.

Uncomfortable now, Dean did what he always did when life didn't make sense to him. He baited Sam into an argument, but he’d never learned not to pick a philosophical fight with his brother. Sam's circular logic could run marathons around his own. "Of course I'm sure, Sam! If Fate has already decided how my life will go, then what is the point of any of it? Why are we out there busting our asses hunting monsters and trying to make some sorta difference in this world, if none of our choices make any difference in the end anyway?"

Sam shrugged, refusing to be baited. "Maybe because we don't know for sure our lives _are_ ruled by Fate. Maybe they're just the sum of all our choices, good and bad. We'll probably never know the answer to that, not completely, anyway. What I do know is when an _angel_ tells you that your soul is bound to another, you should probably pay attention."

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair, refusing to look at Sam. _Was_ he bound to Hope? He shook his head at the ridiculous notion, but as he gazed at Hope's face, peacefully unaware of everything around her, part of him still wondered. And if it _were_ true, would it be the worst thing in the world? 

"Don't tell me you don't feel a connection with her." Sam's low voice cut through the silence that had fallen across the room, and Dean tilted his face toward the ceiling, closing his eyes. Oh, he felt it, no doubt about it. It was like his entire being wanted—no _needed_ , to be near her; like he was put on this earth specifically for that purpose. When he met Hope all those years ago, he felt alive for the first time in, well, ever. And although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, when she walked away from him six years ago, a part of him died right there in the hospital cafeteria. 

The fascinating thing to him was this need to be with her was more than just a physical feeling. It went beyond that, almost to an atomic level, he supposed. It both terrified and intrigued him, but he feared it more than anything because he had no control over any of it. He didn't feel the need to control it, not really, and that thought alone left him petrified. Was it really his choice to feel that deeply for Hope, or was it something only his soul demanded? Did he even get a choice in the matter? More importantly, did Hope feel it too?

"Dean?" Anxiety washed over Sam as he watched his brother. Dean's features twitched slightly as his expressions changed from worry to fear and back again, and Sam wondered if Dean would try and lie to him again. Dean's default mode was denial, so it wouldn't be the least bit surprising, but it was getting tedious. Something told Sam that the sooner the two of them discovered whatever it was between them, the sooner everyone could go on with their lives. 

"I heard you, Sam." Dean didn't open his eyes, and he didn't look at his brother, and Sam regarded him with a surprised grimace. Sam waited for a few moments, waiting for Dean to give any of his standard evasive answers. 

_Shut up, Sam!_

_Drop it, Sam!_

_We're not talking about this, Sam!_

_Leave it alone, Sam!_

Sam played through each one in his head, waiting for the words to come out of Dean's mouth, but to his shock and surprise, Dean said nothing. Before Sam could say anything else, there was a flutter of rushing wind and fabric, and a breathless and bleeding Castiel stood in the corner of the room.

"Cas?" Sam breathed, standing up and holding his arms out to steady the angel. "What the hell happened to you?" Dean jumped up from the chair, coming to Castiel's aid, his previous anger at the angel forgotten for the moment.

"No time to explain, they're coming for Hope," Castiel said, taking a steadying breath. "I need to ward her. Now." He took a step toward Hope, and Dean held out a hand to stop him, placing his body between Castiel and Hope. 

"Whoa, Cas. Who are _they_?" Dean demanded, glancing over his shoulder at Hope. "And what are you going to do to her?"

"I'm going to carve sigils on her ribs, just like the ones you two have. Now move and let me finish what I started." Castiel sidestepped, moving to the edge of Hope's bed as Dean watched helplessly. He shot Sam a wordless look, but Sam only shrugged in answer. 

Castiel placed his hand directly over Hope's sternum, and blinding white light shot out from his palm, illuminating Hope's bones beneath her skin. She grunted softly but didn't open her eyes. When Castiel finished, he turned to Dean. "How long has she been unconscious like this?" Dean stared at Castiel like he'd just asked him to count the stars in the sky. 

"Three days," Sam interjected. Castiel shook his head, muttering to himself. "What's wrong, Cas?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied, examining Hope's face. "I think she's locked inside her mind somehow." 

"Well can you wake her up?" Dean demanded as his heart slammed into the back of his throat. He couldn't lose her now. He wouldn't.

"I can try," Castiel said, pressing two fingers to Hope's forehead. His eyes glowed blue, his lips moving silently. 

~~~~~

To Sam and Dean, it looked and felt like only a couple of seconds passed, but inside Hope's head, Castiel was racing through a lifetime of her memories, searching and finding no sign of her anywhere. Desperate, Castiel called her name, hoping she might hear him. 

Hope's ears perked up at the sound of her name. She'd lost track of how many times she'd watched this particular memory—dream—whatever it was, but never once had anyone called out to her. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she just couldn't quite place it.

"Hope? Hope, can you hear me? Where are you?" The voice was faint, as though she were underwater.

"I'm here," she called back, trying to move closer toward the sound. 

"Hope, I need you to wake up. Now!"

"I-I can't!" Hope cried, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. "I've tried! It doesn't work! It's like I'm outside myself, and all I can see are these flashes of dreams!"

"Hope, listen to me, if you don't wake up now, you're going to die." The voice seemed so far away, the words fading in and out like bad cell phone reception. "Dean and Sam will die too."

"How do I wake up?" Hope said, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest at the thought of Dean and Sam dying while trying to protect her unconscious body.

"Find the exit door. It's not metaphorical, it's a literal door in your subconscious. Find it and go through it as fast as you can."

Hope's gaze darted around widely, seeing nothing other than a 360-degree view of some of her subconscious' greatest hits. Panicking, she glanced down at her feet and used her toe to nudge the ground, trying to think. Something shiny caught her eye and thinking it was a penny, she bent to pick it up. As she touched it, a trapdoor sprang open nearby. "Here goes nothing." Hope sprinted toward the opening in the ground and dove headlong into the unknown, thinking of nothing but getting back to Dean.

~~~~~

Hope slammed back into her body, jolting awake with a ragged gasp as she sat bolt upright in the hospital bed. Castiel took his fingers off her forehead, his eyes returning to their normal blue color, and Hope blinked, trying to focus.

"Heya, sweetheart," Dean said, his lips curving into a soft smile at the sight of her awake. "Thought we'd lost you for a second."

"Hey yourself," Hope replied automatically, returning his smile. _You almost did._ She frowned, wondering what the hell just passed between them. Surely it was just because she'd spent all that time traipsing around in her subconscious, right? That had to be it. It was the only logical explanation. She shook her head, trying to sit up, but the room spun out of control. 

"They're here," Castiel said. "Take her and go, I'll hold them off. I'll explain everything when I can. Now go!" The next instant, the three of them were outside the hospital standing next to the Impala. Hope stumbled, falling against the car as Dean reached out and pulled her into his arms. He picked her up and set her in the middle of the front seat, sliding behind the wheel and starting the car. 

"Hurry up, Sam!" Dean yelled, glancing through the rear windshield to see several angels racing toward them, brandishing shiny blades. Sam jumped in the car, but before he could get the door closed, Dean had already stomped on the accelerator and tore out of the parking lot, spinning tires the entire way.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Why are the angels after Hope?" He glanced over at her, fear and worry etching the lines of his face. 

"I think I knew, once," Hope whispered, shaking her head slightly as she tried to recall a memory, but instead, the movement sent the world tilting on its axis again. "I just can't remember now." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them to glance between Dean and Sam.

"Castiel saved me." Hope spoke to no one in particular, and neither of them acknowledged the statement. "I was lost, i-inside my head."

"I don't know about you, sweetheart, but inside my own head is a dangerous place," Dean said, glancing at her and then back to the road, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think I'd wish that on anyone."

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, then after a half-second added, "physically, anyway?"

"Yeah, I think so," Hope said, glancing down at her hospital gown. "I feel fine." 

She pulled the hospital gown away from her neck to examine her chest wound, lifting the bandage slightly to get a look at it. "I guess Castiel did more than help me out of my head," she remarked. "He healed me."

"What the hell is going on?" Dean muttered, keeping his eyes on the road ahead as he raced toward the northbound interstate.

"I wish I knew, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head as he glanced at Hope. "I wish I knew."


	12. Live and Let Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning--this chapter ends on a cliffhanger! The next chapter will be worth it, I promise!

Hope stared out the windshield of the Impala, letting the rumble of the car’s exhaust calm her frayed nerves. She shot both Sam and Dean sideways glances, but couldn’t bring herself to break the uneasy silence that had fallen over the car. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the seat, letting her mind wander and hoping she might remember more of her acip trip ride through her subconscious. 

Since Castiel brought her back, all of the mental images—she really wasn’t sure what to call them, were distorted and fuzzy. Some of them she could see clearly, others not so much, and absolutely none of them made any sense. There was no possible way in any lifetime that Dean gave up his entire life to settle down with her. It just wasn’t possible. Hope wondered how much of what she remembered she should share with the brothers, if anything. They’d probably think she was crazy if she just blurted, _“Hey guys, I think the trippy coma dreams I was having were actually memories. Weird, right?”_

No, that wasn’t an option. After a few more minutes of terse silence, she couldn’t take it anymore. “So, um, where are we going?”

“Someplace safe and off the grid until we figure out what the hell is going on,” Dean said, not risking a glance in her direction because he had a feeling he knew what her reaction would be. 

“Take me home.” There was a finality to Hope’s tone that didn’t invite discussion, and Dean cocked an eyebrow, glancing between Hope and the road ahead. “I’m not just going to run away, Dean! I have a job, a house, a cat! I can’t just leave!”

“You can and you will if you want to stay alive,” Dean growled, and Hope glared daggers at the side of his head. Hope had no idea what the hell her subconscious was trying to tell her, but it wasn’t what she thought. Dean Winchester was insufferable, and she shuddered to think of the intimacy the two of them shared in her mind, trying not to gag. Dean Winchester was a stubborn, infuriating, complicated horse’s ass and she wanted nothing more to do with him. She’d saved their lives. Again. Wasn’t that enough?

“No!” Hope snapped. “I said, _take me home!”_ Dean shot her a glare, his eyes dark like a brewing thunderstorm. He said nothing, just hit the brakes and skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. 

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart—” Dean started, turning toward her, his eyes glittering with barely restrained fury. God, they were gorgeous, even when he was angry and about to tear her a new one. Hope swallowed, forcing herself to focus. It didn’t matter if she thought he was beauty incarnate or that he smelled like Heaven, she told herself. He was bossy and angry and...and _bossy_.

“Don’t call me that,” Hope said in a low voice. “I’m not your fucking sweetheart. I’m not anything to you.” Hope stared blankly ahead, wishing she was anywhere other than there, sandwiched between two of the most dangerous men on the entire planet. She bit her lip, to keep from blurting an apology, but he couldn’t know why him calling her sweetheart bothered her so much. He wouldn’t understand, would he? Hope wasn’t entirely sure she understood it herself.

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean cut him off with a glare. “Fine,” Dean said. “Be that as it may, we can’t take you home. Cas did not risk his ass back there for you to walk into an ambush. Because if you think for one minute those fluffy-winged dicks don’t know where your house is, you’ve got another thing coming. They’ll be watching it for any signs of you, so until we figure out why the angels want you, you are persona non grata in Lawrence. Got it?”

“I can’t just abandon my life, Dean,” Hope said softly, trying a different approach. “I can’t abandon Licorice. He hasn’t had to fend for himself since I found him as a kitten and he’ll starve if I don’t come home. I need to go home, please.”

“I’m sorry, Hope. We can’t risk it,” Dean replied, his tone softening as he chuckled slightly. “Your cat’s name is Licorice?”

“Yeah,” Hope snapped, unable to shake the feeling Dean was laughing at her. “Got a problem with that?”

“No. Not at all,” Dean said, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip as he shook his head. As she watched him, she was suddenly very aware of both men’s presence so close to her. Her pulse quickened, her vision blurred at the edges, and she tried to steady her breathing to stave off the incoming panic attack. 

“Uh, guys?” Hope wheezed, pressing a palm to her chest. “I’m, uh, having a bit of trouble breathing. I need, uh, out of this car. Uh, right now.”

Sam stared at Hope like she’d grown another head, and Dean’s gaze darted between Sam and Hope, his expression questioning. “Move, dammit!” Hope yelled. Nodding, Sam yanked open the door, ungracefully climbing out of the passenger seat as Hope practically launched herself from the car, clumsily feeling along the side of the Impala until she reached the rear. It was as far away as she chanced going, but she didn’t know why it mattered how far she went. 

Hope put her hands on the trunk of the Impala, fingers splayed. The shiny black metal was warm under her palms, and she tried to focus on the warmth to center herself. She dropped her head down in between her shoulders and forced herself to breathe deeply as she rocked back and forth. Her heart raced, her mouth was dry, and it didn’t matter how much Hope tried to tell herself Sam and Dean wouldn’t hurt her, it still made her jumpy to be in too close proximity to anyone. 

Hope hated this part of her life more than anything else. Whiskey usually helped, but she was all too aware of how slippery that slope was. Besides, she was attacked six years ago, she’d like to think she was past it, and most days, she was. It was easy to believe that when she never let anyone into her personal space, other than moving patients, which didn’t count. The first person who’d touched her in six years was Dean, and it just so happened he was also the last. 

Dean got out of the Impala, and the squeak of the driver door as it closed made one corner of Hope’s mouth lift in an unbidden smile. She didn’t look up at him, instead she closed her eyes, breathing deep and trying to recall why the sound made her heart do a somersault in her chest. Dean leaned on the side of the car, exchanging silent questions with Sam. He walked over to her, his boots crunching softly on the gravel beneath his feet. 

Hope’s body tensed involuntarily as Dean stood beside her and she fought the urge to move away from him with every fiber of her being. _He can’t hurt you if he can’t reach you!_ Dean won’t hurt me, Hope told herself, he won’t. _How do you know, though? How do you know?_

“Heya sweetheart,” Dean said in a soothing tone. “You alright?”

_ That’s how I know, now shut up!  _

Hope chuckled but didn’t raise her head. “Hey yourself.” Her words were muffled, but Dean recognized them as the first words he’d ever said to her, and he wondered if she’d chosen that phrase on purpose. “I will be, I just need a couple minutes.”

“Okay, but don’t take too long. We need to keep moving until we get somewhere safe.” Hope felt rather than saw Dean turning away from her, and against her body’s screaming protests to just let him get as far away from her as possible, she raised her head and chanced a look at him. 

The midday sun danced on the highlights of his sandy colored hair, giving them an almost ethereal glow as he turned to look back at her. Had he felt her eyes on him? He shot her a lopsided smile, and there was a faint spark in his eyes Hope didn’t remember seeing before. He looked down for a moment, his tongue catching between his teeth as he chuckled to himself about something and in that moment, Hope understood everything her subconscious was trying to tell her. Too bad she didn’t believe any of it for a second. 

There was no doubt in her mind how she felt about Dean, even when he was being a gigantic pain in her ass. Hope had known it almost from the beginning, but she believed with all her heart that he couldn’t possibly feel a fraction of what she did. Her love for him was fierce, overwhelming, and quite frankly, scared the living hell out of her. Hope had never been in love with anyone, before or since him, and everything logical in her mind told her it wasn’t healthy, and the only reason she loved him was because he and Sam saved her life that horrible night. 

Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. All Hope was sure of at the moment was whatever was going on now, she was at the center of it, and there was no pretending like it wasn’t happening. At least she wasn’t facing whatever it was alone, not right now anyway. Maybe they’d both leave her high and dry at some point, but that was a problem for future Hope to deal with. 

Hope took another deep breath, her heart rate approaching normal and she pushed away from the trunk of the car. In her haste to get free of the vehicle, she’d forgotten she wasn’t wearing shoes, and she stared at her pedicured toenails, wondering for the millionth time what the hell was happening to her. “I think I’ll be alright now,” she said, moving toward the back passenger door. “I just need to ride in the backseat.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a quizzical look, then nodded. “Whatever you say—” Dean started to call Hope sweetheart again, but he caught himself and yanked the driver door open in his frustration. Why did he keep calling her that? It was automatic, like breathing, and Dean’s brows furrowed, trying to understand it. “Y’all coming or not?” 

Dean started the engine as Sam and Hope climbed in. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at Hope in the rearview mirror. Hope gave him a nod and a tight smile, then stared out the window to avoid his gaze. He gazed at the side of her head for a moment longer, then put the car in gear and took off again.

“So, can I at least call Loretta? She’s got to be worried. I mean I did just literally go poof from my hospital room,” Hope said, leaning back in the seat. She half expected Dean to say no, that it was too dangerous. It wasn’t like Hope would have anyone looking for her other than her coworkers anyway, the rest of her family was dead. The weight of that realization hit her, and she took a ragged breath. She killed Heather. Hope Bennett, the woman who’d taken an oath to do no harm, had taken a life, and not just any life—no ma’am. She went all out with that one, didn’t she? Hope killed her own sister to save a man who didn’t love her, and she was pretty certain there was no coming back from that one in the karma department. Could that be why everything was falling apart now?

“Make it quick,” Sam said, passing her his phone. Hope gave him a nod and a small smile of thanks as she took it, punching in Loretta’s number. It rang three times, then Hope let out a breath as Loretta’s voice came on the line.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey Loretta. It’s me,” Hope said. There was what Hope could only assume was a stunned silence and Hope pressed on. “Look, I can’t talk long, I just wanted to let you know I’m fine, but I won’t be back for a while. Can you take care of Licorice for me?”

“Hope?” Loretta said, her voice sounded shocked and disoriented and Hope wondered if Loretta heard anything else she said. “Where the hell are you? Everyone is going crazy, they think you’ve been kidnapped. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I swear, Loretta, I’m fine,” Hope said, the corners of her mouth curling into a wry smile. “I have sorta been kidnapped, but I’m with the good guys, so it’s okay. They’re going to help me figure out who’s after me and why, but I can’t go back to my house so I need you to look after Licorice for a while.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of him for you. The Winchesters being the good guys is debatable though.” A short, confused silence fell on the line. “So, where are you going?”

Alarm bells clanged in the back of Hope’s mind, and she bit her lip. How did Loretta know she was with them? She wanted to believe she was just being paranoid, but she couldn’t risk it. Whoever Castiel was trying to protect them from would be watching every move anyone around Hope made, which means everyone she remotely cared about was in danger of being tortured for information. Did angels torture people? Hope didn’t know, but she wasn’t willing to risk Loretta finding out. “I really don’t know. Someplace safe. I gotta go, I’ll call you soon. Bye.”

“Hope, wait—” Hope pressed the end button and stared at the phone for a few moments, trying to decide whether to throw it out the window. She sighed, then passed the phone back to Sam who rolled down the window and threw the phone out onto the highway. 

“If I’d known you were going to do that, I could’ve saved you the trouble and done it myself,” Hope muttered, leaning back again to ponder the conversation she had with Loretta. Sam chuckled, shaking his head but saying nothing, and when the silence in the car got to be too much, Dean turned up the radio.

Hope’s brows furrowed in concentration as she tried and failed to make sense of Loretta’s comment. Dean glanced at Hope through the mirror, and anxiety tugged at his gut when he saw the expression on her face. “What is it?”

“Huh?” Hope’s frowned, her features softening slightly as she glanced at Dean’s profile. “Oh, um, nothing. It’s just—” Hope shook her head and stared out the window. “I’m worried about Loretta. It was something she said, it didn’t make sense to me at the time. It still doesn’t. What if they hurt her to try and get to me?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a wordless look, but Hope understood its meaning just the same. _Yes. Yes they would absolutely do that._ Dean cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder at her, then back to the road. “What did Loretta say exactly?”

“She just asked me where exactly I was going and that you two being the good guys was debatable,” Hope said with a shrug. “It’s not odd exactly, but it’s not sitting right with me.”

“Why is that?” Sam asked quietly. “What do you think?”

“It’s not a matter of whether I _agree_ with what she said, Sam. It has nothing to do with that at all.” Hope sighed, pressing her lips together as she gathered her thoughts. “It’s more of a, I dunno, a feeling. It’s the way she said it. She called you two ‘The Winchesters’. That’s not something _Loretta_ would’ve said. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not Dean’s biggest fan by any means, but she’s got no problem with Sam. She doesn’t even know him really.”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes as Hope smirked at him from the backseat. “What’s your point?”

“My _point_ ,” Hope said, taking a deep breath, “is that if she was going to make some comment like that she would have said ‘Dean Winchester,’ not ‘The Winchesters’. To me that sounds like someone else, but I could just be paranoid.”

“Trust me, a little paranoia never hurts,” Dean said, tilting his head and adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “Especially when dealing with those fluffy-winged asshats.”

“So what now? I’m just supposed to keep running from them?” Hope snapped, running her fingers through her hair without thinking. She tugged at a knot, a low growl escaping her throat. “How exactly am I supposed to do that with nothing but a hospital gown to my name now? I don’t even have any shoes!”

Tears sprang to Hope’s eyes as the enormity of the last several days’ events overwhelmed her. Since Dean appeared on her doorstep, she’d saved their lives—twice, and almost lost hers once. Twice if you count being stuck in coma la la land. Now she was running from angels— _angels_ of all things. For a split second, she questioned her decision to open the door and let them in that night. She blinked, a single tear falling onto her cheek. When she tried to covertly wipe it away, she caught Dean giving her an odd look in the mirror.

“First, we find somewhere to lay low until we figure out why they’re after you. Then, whatever happens, we’ll face it together.” Hope’s heart skipped a beat, then slammed into her throat so hard she felt as though someone knocked the wind out of her. She let out a raspy breath, trying to get herself back under control. The feeling of deja vu was too strong, and she blinked several times, trying to understand why those words affected her so much. The longer she was awake, the faster the images in her mind became more distorted and fuzzy beyond recognition now, and some of them had already been swallowed back into her subconscious, leaving behind nothing but a blank space and the feeling of something missing.

“Hope? Are you alright?” Dean asked, his eyes full of worry and concern for her. She glanced up at him, then looked away, embarrassed by her reaction.

“I’m fine,” she said tersely, ignoring the slightly wounded look he gave her. “So where are we gonna go?”

“We know a place,” Dean shot her a lopsided grin in the mirror. “Get comfy, it’s gonna be a while.”

~~~~~

Five hours later, the Impala rolled into Singer Auto Salvage in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Hope thought that for a junkyard, the place looked pretty picturesque as the setting sun glinted through an upstairs window of the house, hitting her directly in the face. Dean parked the car, and the three of them got out. Hope grimaced and hissed through her teeth when she stepped out of the car onto the gravel driveway barefoot. 

Dean gave her a quizzical look, and she shook her head. “Guess I’m not running on adrenaline anymore,” she said with a small shrug. Without a word, he came over to her and scooped her into his arms. Hope let out a yelp of surprise, locking her arms around his neck and desperately trying to ignore her racing heart and flip-flopping stomach. Once again, she felt safe in the solid embrace of his arms, but how long would that feeling last, really? And why was it that when it came to him, her body completely ignored all the warnings her mind spit out as it tried desperately to protect her from being attacked again? Dean Winchester was dangerous; for a multitude of reasons. Hope knew that with every fiber of her being. She also knew beyond any certainty she had a right to possess that he would not hurt her, not ever, and it frustrated her beyond measure that she didn’t understand exactly _how_ she knew it.

Dean glanced down at her with a slight smile and mischief in his eyes, and Hope thought he enjoyed making her yelp a little too much, but she said nothing as he carried her up the steps and set her down on the wooden porch, still grinning to himself as Sam knocked on the screened door. 

“Bobby? You here?” Sam called, getting a gruff response from deep inside the house, then a bearded older man appeared at the door. Bobby? Hope squinted, trying to remember. This was important, she knew it. 

“Hey, boys,” Bobby said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “It’s been awhile. You didn’t mention you were bringing a guest.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry to just bust in on you like this,” Dean said, turning slightly toward Hope. “But the angel dicks are up to their bs again, and Hope needs a place to lay low for a while until we figure out why they’re after her.”

“I see,” Bobby replied, pushing the door open to let them in, then led them into the library. He gestured vaguely to the couch and chairs and Hope sat stiffly on the edge of the couch while Sam took a seat in one of the chairs and Dean planted himself at the opposite edge of the couch from Hope. “Alright, start talking. What is she, and why does she look like you kidnapped her from a mental institution? No offense,” he said, flashing Hope a sardonic smile. Hope’s face flushed crimson and she stared at the floor, wishing that it would just swallow her whole. 

“She’s human,” Dean snapped, glaring at Bobby. “Cas pulled her out of a coma after she got stabbed with a blade meant for me, then the angels came for her and he zapped us out into the parking lot of the hospital and told us to run. We didn’t exactly have time to grab her stuff, but she’s saved mine and Sam’s asses a couple times now, so go easy, man. She’s been through a lot the last few days.”

“Sorry,” Bobby mumbled, glancing at Hope, who refused to meet his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Hope. I’m Bobby Singer, crotchety, paranoid bastard.”

Hope glanced up at him, trying to stifle a small smile even as her face felt like it was on fire. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Hope Bennett, not a mental patient, not yet anyway. Give me a few more days and that might change.”

Bobby's eyes went round as he glanced at Dean, who shrugged in answer. He turned to Sam, who was busy studying the cobwebs on the ceiling. “Well okay then, either of you idjits want to tell me what the God squad wants with a human doctor?”

Sam sighed, leaning back in the chair. “We’d love to, Bobby. If we had any idea. Cas said he’d explain when he could, and then he told us to run. So for now, all we know is that we’re supposed to keep her safe and hidden. Cas barely had time to ward her before more angels showed up at the hospital to kill her.”

“Well, you guys must be starving. You want something to eat?” Bobby said, glancing around the room. Before the words were even out of his mouth, Sam and Dean were already up and headed for the kitchen. Hope didn’t move from her spot on the couch, engrossed in studying the pattern on the fraying rug beneath her feet. Bobby watched her intently for a few moments, an awkward silence falling across them as the sounds of bickering and cabinet doors opening and closing came from the other room.

“What did Sam mean?” Hope murmured, risking a glance at Bobby. His mouth was set in a grim line and mostly hidden by his beard, but his eyes were filled with curiosity. “About Castiel—Cas? warding me?”

Bobby was taken aback for a moment at the sound of her voice, so small and unsure. “How much do you know about the supernatural world, Hope?”

“I come from a family of monsters, and angels want to kill me. That’s about the extent of it.” Hope didn’t mean to snap at him, she really didn’t, but she was overwhelmed and so, so exhausted. She pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and the vain hope that doing so would shut out everything else.

“Well that explains how you know those two idjits. Anyway, the warding Cas put on you is a sigil that hides you from all angels. Sam and Dean are warded too.” Bobby took a seat at the desk, studying Hope’s expression. She was taking the news of the supernatural better than most he’d seen, but she still looked like she might keel over at any moment. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Hope said honestly, shaking her head slightly but not opening her eyes. “I'm exhausted and I don't know what to think right now. I was in a coma for three fucking days and now I'm not and my whole life has been turned upside down in a matter of hours. Again. All because once again—I said yes.”

Bobby’s ears perked up and he gave her an intense glare. “I need you to answer my next question honestly, Hope. Do you understand?” Hope opened her eyes and frowned at him, nodding slowly. “Who—or what, did you say yes to?”

Hope withered slightly under the intensity of Bobby's expression as he waited for her to answer the question. She couldn't imagine what the answer to that question had to do with anything, but she humored him anyway. “It was Dean. I agreed to help him save Sam. What does that have to do with anything?”

Before Bobby could answer, Dean returned to the library, holding a plate with a ham sandwich on it out to Hope. “Here, hope you’re not a vegetarian. Eat.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Hope murmured, narrowing her eyes at Dean and taking the offered food. She wasn’t a child that needed looking after, no matter what Dean seemed to think. Hope was about to tell him so when she caught a hint of worry in his expression. 

_ Of course he's worried, but that has nothing to do with me personally. Hazards of the job. _

Hope shrugged it off, setting the plate in her lap and then taking a small bite of the sandwich. It wasn’t anything special in the world of sandwiches, but Hope suddenly couldn’t remember the last time she ate, so this mediocre ham sandwich served on a cheap paper plate tasted like manna from heaven. Hope immediately stopped chewing at the thought of heaven. 

Hope always believed that heaven and angels were the embodiment of good and light and hell and demons were the opposite. She wasn’t religious, but to her, all religions carried the same message, ‘don’t be a dick’. Hope believed as long as she followed that one rule, when her time came, whatever afterlife awaited wouldn’t be horrible. What was she supposed to do with the knowledge that _angels_ wanted her dead?

Dean took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, watching Hope to make sure she ate enough. If she’d been paying attention, she might have thought the gesture sweet, but as it was she barely noticed. Dean’s phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket. Cas’ name was on the screen and Dean answered quickly, putting the phone on speaker. “Cas? You okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. How’s Hope? Is she alright?”

“I’m fine, Castiel. Thanks—for everything,” Hope said, staring at the remainder of her sandwich.

“Well you might change your mind about that soon,” Castiel said cryptically. “But you’re welcome just the same.”

“O-kay. You want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean said, shaking his head.

“Not over the phone. Where are you?”

“Bobby’s—” The line went dead and the Castiel appeared in the corner of the room in a flutter of wind.

“Alright, Cas. We’re all here, so tell us what the hell is going on, will ya?” Dean said, glancing sideways at Hope, who’d set her half-eaten sandwich on the end table next to her.

“The short answer? Three days ago—” Castiel paused, glancing around the room at the four faces staring back at him with various expressions of interest, fear, worry, and trepidation. “Three days ago, Hope was supposed to die.”


	13. Land of Confusion

Castiel’s words hit Hope like a sledgehammer to the chest. What the hell was that supposed to mean? If she was supposed to die, why hadn’t she? She sputtered and coughed, trying to catch her breath. Castiel tilted head and studied her; his eyes narrowed in silent question.

“Come again?” Bobby said. Sam and Dean stared at Castiel as though he’d just sprouted horns and a forked tail. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes.” Castiel looked at Bobby with a mildly confused expression, and Dean rolled his eyes, in a hurry for Castiel to get to the point. 

“Alright, Cas. We’re gonna need more to go on than that. If Hope was supposed to die, why is she alive?” Sam asked, ever the voice of reason when tensions ran high. 

“Well—” Castiel paused, glancing at the floor and looking slightly guilty. “I saved her. It was the right thing to do; I know it was. But now…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. 

“Okay, start at the beginning, Cas,” Dean said, glancing at Hope. She sat perfectly still, her expression chiseled from stone, and he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be alright. He didn’t; assuming she didn’t want or need that from him right now. 

“That will take a while. I’m very old, Dean,” Castiel deadpanned, and Hope stifled a smile, unsure if he’d intended his answer sound as sarcastic as it had.

“You know what I meant! Start at the beginning of whatever is going on with Hope!”

Hope swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to hear what Castiel was about to say, but she forced herself to not bolt from the room like her hair was on fire. “Please, Castiel. I need to know why the angels are after me,” she murmured. 

Castiel took a deep breath, then let it out again and started pacing the room like Dean usually did when he had a lot on his mind. “As I said, I’m very old. I've seen thousands of lifetimes along this timeline, and all of them ended the same way. Dean and Sam failed to stop the Apocalypse; Lucifer rises, all of it. Except for this one.”

“What happens in this one?” Bobby asked, reaching for the whiskey bottle on the corner of the desk and pouring himself a drink. 

“If Hope dies before the next fixed point in time, this timeline will split again, and something worse than the apocalypse happens,” Castiel replied. 

“What’s worse than the apocalypse?” Bobby asked, taking a long drink from his glass and regarding Castiel with a worried expression.

“The end of all human and supernatural life on earth. It all just gets wiped away, like it never existed at all. It’s almost as if Atropos hits the reset button—for all of Earth.”

“That seems a bit extreme for one human life, dontcha think?” Bobby said, glancing at Hope. She stared at the floor, looking pale and nauseous. 

“It’s not just about her life. When Hope decided to help Dean and save Sam, that one choice sent the entire timeline in a different direction, one that had a less than one in 998,795,780 chance of occurring.”

“Atropos,” Sam murmured, his eyes moving side to side as he tried to recall a memory. “She’s a Moirai, right? The one responsible for things to come?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He stopped pacing, glancing at Sam.

“You mean Fate? As in— _ the _ Fate?” Dean asked, grabbing the bottle off Bobby’s desk and helping himself to a glass. He drank the first one in one swallow and poured another, handing the glass off to Hope. She took it from him with a trembling hand, one corner of her mouth twitching in a silent thanks. 

“One of them, yes,” Castiel said. “There are three total, but that isn’t the point. The point is, Hope wasn’t supposed to save Sam’s life that night, and because she did, she was supposed to die on that operating table. Doing so would’ve guaranteed an end to this timeline. I saved her, and now...”

Dean stood up, his fists balled at his sides. Hope glanced up and swallowed down her drink when she saw the murderous glare in Dean’s eyes as he stared daggers at Castiel. “Are you saying you didn’t heal Sam, and he was going to die? What the hell, Cas?” Dean took a step forward, and Castiel stood up straighter, glaring back at him. 

“I  _ couldn’t _ , Dean!” Castiel insisted, his expression softening and his eyes begging for Dean to understand, even as he took a cautious step backward. Sam stood up, stepping between Dean and Castiel. 

“Dean, wait,” Sam said, putting his hand in the center of Dean’s chest and turning toward Castiel. “Let him finish. Why couldn’t you heal me, Cas?”

“Because—” Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hope’s choice to open that door or not was a fixed point. The only beings in the universe powerful enough to change a fixed point are the Moirai, and that hasn’t happened since the very beginning.”

“English, Cas!” Dean growled, unclenching his fists and pouring himself another drink. 

“We don’t have enough time for me to explain how the universe works on a level human brains can process, Dean.” Castiel’s face pinched as he tilted his head and glared at Dean, then crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

“Wait,” Hope said, standing up and taking the bottle from Dean and refilling her glass. “You’re saying that in  _ every other _ version of this timeline, I slam the door in his face—and Sam dies? That’s great. That’s just—great.” Hope drank down the amber liquid, blowing out a breath as it warmed her insides. It had been a long time since she allowed herself more than one drink, and now seemed like a good time to break that rule. “And what happens after that? Everyone but the three of us lives happily ever after, ad nauseum until the end of eternity?”

“Earth lasts another hundred thousand years, then the sun explodes and wipes out all life in the galaxy,” Castiel said, watching her with curious eyes, wondering how she would react if she knew the whole truth. 

Hope turned toward him and asked a question Castiel hadn’t expected. “What happens to Dean when Sam dies? What happens to me?” Cas grimaced, clearly not wanting to answer the question. 

“Cas?” Bobby said, a note of warning in his voice. “What happens?”

“In most of them, Dean does something stupid—the exact thing is different each time, but the result is the same. He does something stupid and ends up in the Emergency Room, and Hope tries to save him, and she fails every time. He dies, and then she’s wracked with guilt for not helping Sam that night, and she drinks herself to death within six months of Dean’s death.” Castiel looked pointedly at the half-full glass of whiskey in Hope’s hand. She lifted it in a cheers motion, and not breaking eye contact with Castiel, took another drink. Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he watched Hope, and he wondered for a moment if he had done the right thing by saving her life. She sighed, then sat down on the couch, setting the glass on the table next to the sandwich plate. 

“So let me get this straight,” Hope leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, blowing out a deep breath. “I don’t save Sam, the apocalypse doesn’t happen, and everybody just lives happily ever after, more or less. I do—did, save Sam, and now the world is going to burn?”

“More or less,” Castiel replied with a small shrug. It was more complicated than that, but Castiel sensed they couldn’t handle any more truth right now. There were many other timelines besides this one, and those all played out in infinite directions also. Castiel had seen most of them, and he had a handful of favorites he revisited from time to time. “Humans, they try to fight, but eventually they give up, and Atropos steps in and cuts Earth’s thread, and it’s reborn into the time before the Gods started experimenting with things they didn’t understand.” 

“How is that even possible?” Dean growled. “Me, Sam,  _ Crowley _ , we stopped the apocalypse. Done, over, finito. Lilith is locked in her own personal cell, right next to Lucifer. And Sam and me—” Dean gestured to between himself and Sam, “we’re the only ones who know how to open that particular cage.”

Castiel shot Dean a mildly exasperated look, waiting for Dean to understand his own words. “Oh my God,” Hope murmured, her gaze darting from Castiel to Dean, then to Sam and Bobby. “I understand.”

“You do?” Dean and Bobby said in unison, looking at her with matching confused frowns. Hope ignored them, burying her face in her hands. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, then down her face, resting her chin on her curled fingers. 

“Yeah, I do. I’m surprised you guys don’t.” Three confused faces stared at her, and Castiel tilted his head, waiting. Hope resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she explained. “In every other instance, I don’t save Sam. He dies, no apocalypse—because it takes both of you to open that  _ particular cage _ , as you put it. Because Sam didn’t die, you’re both still alive to do that.”

“I knew you were smart,” Castiel said with a small smile, his expression triumphant as he gazed at Sam, Dean, and Bobby, who all stared at Hope and Castiel with wide-eyed understanding.

“But I’m still confused about a couple of things,” Hope said, her brows knitting together. “If I was supposed to die on that operating table, why did you save me? If the world returns to nothing when I die anyway, isn’t that just delaying the inevitable? Why do the angels want me dead now?”

Castiel hesitated for a moment. The moment he’d known was coming since Sam asked him to take away Dean’s pain all those years ago was here. He’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, they’d figure it out on their own, and he’d never have to tell them. Of course, these three particular humans were more stubborn than most, and because of that, things had not gone according to the Moirais’ established plan. Castiel frowned, pressing his lips together so hard they practically disappeared off his face. 

“Cas?” Dean said in a low voice filled with warning. “What do you know?”

“The angels that are after Hope,” Castiel rolled his eyes upward, tilting his head back as he searched for the right words. “They’re working on Raphael’s orders.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Why does Raphael care about Hope? Doesn’t he know it’s the end of everything if they succeed?”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel sidestepped Sam’s other questions, trying not to reveal anything else. He looked away, then walked to the kitchen and stared out the window. “He has his reasons. I can’t say any more about it. If I do, you might bring on the very end you’re trying to prevent.”

“Why, Cas?” Sam asked. Castiel sighed, gritting his teeth as an unexpected wave of anger washed over him. He turned, his blue eyes darkening to the color of a storm-tossed sea. 

“Because!” Castiel pointed at Sam, Dean, and Hope. “You three are the most stubborn, convicted,  _ unwavering _ humans in the entire history of the universe! Once you set your mind to do something or not to do it, as the case may be—nothing, not even the Gods or Fate, will make you change your minds. It would be impressive if it weren’t so friggin  _ maddening _ ! And do you know why?”

Silence fell over the room, and no one dared to speak. Castiel huffed, throwing up his hands in frustration. Hope picked up the temporarily forgotten glass of whiskey on the table beside her and drained it, smacking her lips as she swallowed the last of it. She was shutting down emotionally; she could feel it, but she didn’t see much point in staying sober after finding out she basically restarted the end of the world as they knew it. 

“Anybody want to take a guess? No? Fine, I’ll just tell you the answer. It’s because the other fixed point in this timeline where your lives could take a different path and  _ not _ reach this point, it’s up to Dean, and in every lifetime—every single one of them; he makes the same choice.”

Hope closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the now empty whiskey glass. She sighed, pressing the glass to her forehead. Her eyes snapped open at the brush of fingers against hers as he took the glass from her hand. She looked up to see Dean standing in front of her, whiskey bottle in hand, refilling the glass and handing it back to her, then turning to fill his own. Hope took a long sip, relishing the pleasant buzz going on between her ears. Whiskey wasn’t the answer, but it was sure as hell helping her forget the question.

“So, when is that?” Hope asked, rolling the glass between her hands. “Not that it matters now, because I’m assuming that point has passed already?”

“Six years ago.” Hope nearly dropped the glass, sending liquid spilling across her hand and a few drops falling to the floor. She wiped her hand absently on her hospital gown, stopping mid-swipe as Castiel continued. “The night you and Dean parted ways.”

Hope supposed a sucker-punch to the gut would’ve been more unexpected than that truth. The true depths of Dean’s stubbornness and determination to do the right thing, no matter how misguided the notion, should not have surprised her at all. Still, the air shot out of her lungs like a deflating balloon. Dean chose to leave her in every lifetime? Well, of course, he did. Leaving was kind of his thing, wasn’t it?

“So when is the next ‘fixed point,’ or whatever?” Hope asked, finishing the remaining whiskey and setting the glass down on the table with a  _ thunk _ . 

“I don’t know exactly,” Castiel admitted. “It’s not an exact date on the calendar. This particular point is when a certain event happens. In other timelines, it’s already happened by now, but in most of them—it doesn’t happen at all because it isn’t necessary.”

“Do you always have to be so fucking cryptic, Cas?” Dean snarled, glaring around the room. “Just spit it out; what is this so-called mysterious ‘event’ that just so happens to change the course of eternity?”

Cas tilted his head to one side, as though he were listening to a sound that only he could hear. After a few moments, his eyes widened slightly as his brows furrowed. “I have to go,” he said to no one in particular. “Keep Hope safe and away from angels. I’ll be back when I can.”

He disappeared in a rustling of fabric, and Hope’s hair fluttered in the slight breeze he left behind. “Cas!” Dean bellowed. “Cas, get your feathery ass back here and explain yourself!” Castiel didn’t return, and a charged silence fell across the library as they each absorbed the impact of Castiel’s information bomb. 

“Anybody else got the feeling we weren’t getting the whole story?” Bobby said, taking a sip from his glass and shaking his head as he set it down on the desk in front of him. 

Sam chuckled, shaking his head also. “Agreed. So I guess now we have to figure this out on our own.” Bobby looked at Sam like he’d grown another head as Dean went to the kitchen, done with the whole conversation.

“Right,” Bobby said, drawing out the word. “Let me just call up the friendly neighborhood timelord and demand they tell us what the hell is going on.” Sam rolled his eyes, standing up and going to the bookshelves.

“Well, we have to do something. I’m not going to sit around and wait for the end to come and knock on the door to say ‘haha, you’re screwed.’ We’ll figure it out; we always do. I think the best place to start would be with the Moirai.” Sam scanned the bookshelves, pulling seemingly random books from the shelves and setting them on the desk.

“I need some air,” Hope said, swaying slightly as she stood up. Without a backward glance, she went outside to the porch. Shadows swirled around the junkyard, inky and ever-changing, and even though Hope thought she should be creeped out, but instead, felt an odd sense of peace. She gripped the wooden railing so hard her knuckles turned white, staring up into the endless sea of stars. 

Hope hadn’t contemplated the cosmos like this since she was a child. Even compared to the rest of the world, Hope was nothing but a speck of dust, a pinprick in the universe’s makeup, and easily overlooked and forgotten. The idea that a single decision she made in her little insignificant life could be responsible for the destruction of the entire planet just seemed—wrong somehow. Shouldn’t that fate fall to someone far more important than her?

Fate—that was a whole other bunch of bullshit Hope didn’t want to have any part of. The idea of her life being already set in stone and unchangeable irked her in ways she didn’t even want to begin contemplating. If she did, that would mean that no matter what choices she made during her lifetime, she would always end up in that clearing, and what happened there would still occur, and she wasn’t sure she could live with that.

Hope barely survived the aftermath of that night when she believed it was a random accident; how was she supposed to live with the fact that the Moirai—Fate—whatever the fuck they were had made a decision when Hope came to be that no matter what, this was how her life played out? Was there even a lifetime where Hope kept it together and stayed sober, or was she destined to become the broken shell of a woman she is now?

A million questions ricocheted around inside her mind; between the whiskey and sheer overwhelming exhaustion, a headache crept up from the base of Hope’s neck and around the sides of her head. She leaned forward, dropping her head between her shoulders, splinters digging into her palms as she tightened her grip on the railing. “Why?” She said aloud to no one. “Why me?”

“You’ll drive yourself crazy if you start looking for an answer to that question.” Dean’s voice was soft behind her, and she stood up straight, tilting her face toward the dotted sky. “Believe me, I know. I spent months after Cas pulled me out of Hell, trying to figure out who’d done it and why me.”

Hope gave Dean a sideways glance as he came and stood beside her, gripping the porch railing in a gesture that mimicked her own, their elbows brushing together. Hope’s mind willed her body to move away, but in true stubborn fashion, she stayed rooted in place. “You were in hell? As in  _ the _ Hell?”

“Yeah,” Dean gave a dry, ironic chuckle. “I traded my soul for Sam’s life and one last year to spend on Earth. Got ripped apart by hellhounds and spent roughly forty years down there. Time works differently there, so it was only around four months topside.”

“Oh, my God. That’s, that’s—” Hope paused, her cheeks puffing as she blew out a breath and stared at the ground below them. “There aren’t words. When did this happen?”

“Cas pulled me out a couple of months before we met. A year after I, uh—” Dean paused, looking away from Hope toward the garage in the distance, then back to his hands. “Yeah, that. Anyway—me, Sam, and Crowley managed to derail the apocalypse, and everything has been sunshine, rainbows, and unicorn farts since then.”

Hope snorted, shaking her head. “Liar.” The corners of Hope’s mouth twitched involuntarily as she pushed away from the railing and turned to face him. He stood up straight, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression. 

“Are you saying I would lie about averting the damn apocalypse? That’s like lying about—I dunno, killing Hitler. If you ask me, anyone who does something like that should be worshipped as a damn hero, or a God maybe. Who knows?” Hope’s smile widened at the teasing note in Dean’s voice, and she allowed herself a second too long to observe him before shrugging and turning back toward the railing.

“Maybe, but until you’ve  _ actually _ done something like killing Hitler, don’t expect me to worship you like anything. Sorry.” Hope shot Dean a sarcastic smile, regarding his expression as it went from teasing to serious.

“Maybe in another lifetime I did—kill Hitler, I mean.” He flashed a hesitant smile, then placed his hand gently over hers on the railing, curling his calloused fingers around her own. Hope tensed at his touch, but the warmth of his hand over hers was soothing in its own way, so she forced herself to keep breathing and stay still. After a short silence, he spoke again. “And maybe, in another lifetime, I chose differently.”

“What do you mean?” Hope frowned even as her heart fluttered in her chest and her pulse thundered in her ears. She tilted her head and chanced a glance at him, swallowing hard as she did. Every part of her wanted to simultaneously melt into him and run as far away from him as she possibly could. 

Hope inhaled sharply as Dean touched the side of her face, and she stood up straight, turning toward him. “What are you doing?” she murmured. He didn’t answer, just pulled her into a tight hug, squeezing her hard enough her breath left her, and she involuntarily stiffened like a frightened deer trapped in headlights. “Uh, Dean?” Hope tapped his arm. “I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, letting her go. “Sorry. I just—”

“It’s okay,” Hope said, giving him a tight smile as she tucked her tangled hair behind her ear. “Really.”

“You saved us, Hope,” Dean said, a little breathless now. “You saved me.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Saving people? Kinda my thing,” Hope whispered, flashing him a lopsided grin. She took a small step back, rubbing a hand across the back of her neck and praying he didn’t mention the last thing she’d said to Heather before killing her. Hope really didn’t think she was up for that conversation right now. He seemed to pick up on her reluctance and didn’t press. 

“Mine too,” He whispered back, chuckling softly. He shook his head, still smiling at her. “Just don’t make that a habit, alright?”

“Well, I only had one sister hell-bent on murdering you, so—” Hope took a deep breath and pursed her lips, nodding once. “Yeah, I think we’re good there.”

Dean snorted, covering his mouth with one hand. “Right. Well, we should probably talk about that, or—you know, not.”

Hope’s pulse thrummed in her veins as she took another step back, turning toward the door. “Yeah, maybe, but not tonight. I’m exhausted, I’ve had entirely too much to drink, and too much knowledge dropped on me today.”

“I hear you,” Dean replied, an audible note of relief in his voice. Dean was always a massive fan of never talking about anything, but this time seemed different. He wasn’t sure he could handle that conversation tonight. “Let’s go inside; what do you say?”


	14. Don't You Wanna Stay

Dean held out a hand to Hope, and she stared at it for a moment, hesitating, then put her trembling hand in his. He led her back into the house, to the library where Bobby and Sam sat in silence, Sam with his nose in a book, and Bobby making notes at the desk. Bobby glanced up when the two of them entered, then went back to writing. 

Hope glanced around the room, the tension so thick she could almost taste it. "Hey," she murmured to Dean, "where's the bathroom?"

"Just at the end of the hall, past the stairs," he replied. Hope nodded, giving Dean's hand a small squeeze before letting it go and disappearing down the hallway. He watched after her for a moment, then went and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. 

"So," Dean said to no one in particular, "find anything?" The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile as Sam lifted his gaze and glared at Dean. 

"You were outside for like, ten minutes dude—really?" Sam said, shaking his head and returning his attention to his book. Dean shrugged, then picked up his forgotten whiskey glass and drained it. 

Hope appeared in the doorway, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. Dean glanced at her, and she gave him a tight smile as an awkward silence fell across the room. "Come on," Dean said, setting down his glass and getting up from the couch, "I'll show you to the guest room." 

Dean crossed the room, stopping in front of Hope. A shiver ran across Hope's skin as his hand brushed her elbow, and she gazed up at him, blinking like an owl. Hope nodded, not resisting as he steered her down the hallway and into a room at the end of the hall. Dean flipped on the light as they entered, gesturing toward the bed. 

"You can sleep here for tonight, and tomorrow we'll make a run and get you some stuff," Dean said. Hope nodded, saying nothing as she sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. He swallowed, unsure of what else to say.

"Thanks," Hope mumbled, not looking at him. Dean turned to leave, but Hope's voice stopped him. "Um—" She paused, twisting her fingers in her lap. "So what do you think Castiel was talking about?"

"About what?" Dean asked. "Cas said a lot of things, and not very many of them made sense."

"Well, I disagree with you there, but that's not the point," Hope replied, dropping her hands to her knees and standing up, pacing the length of the small room. She chewed on her thumbnail as she walked, a habit she'd picked up during her residency. "What do you think he meant by the event that will be the next fixed point?"

"Oh—I got nothing on that. Look, sometimes Cas can be overly cryptic. For all we know he could be talking about the birth of the next Messiah a thousand years from now or dinnertime tomorrow."

Hope snorted, crossing her arms over her middle and avoiding Dean's eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry I asked, I'm just kinda wondering how long this will last. I had a life, you know. One that you, Sam, and Heather turned upside down—again. It wasn't glamorous; it was boring by your standards, I'm sure, but it was mine. And now…" Her voice trailed off, and she sat down on the bed, running her hands down her thighs to rest them on her knees. 

"Look, Hope—" Dean started, but Hope held up one hand to stop him. She couldn't do this with him, not now. "Please, let me say this."

"Say what, Dean?" Hope snapped, glaring at him. "That you're sorry? What, exactly, are you sorry for? Hmm? Ripping my heart out six years ago, or showing up in my life to do it again? Was once not enough for you?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, saying nothing. After a few tense moments of silence, Hope spoke again. "Just go. I'd like to be alone."

"Right," Dean growled, then cleared his throat and slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the room. 

Hope buried her face in her hands and let the tears fall. Everything that happened since Dean banged on her door that morning flashed through her mind, from stitching up Sam to stabbing Heather, and now...she was practically a prisoner in someone else's life. She was going to lose everything because some angel had a hard-on for her, and her blood boiled at the thought. Hope hadn't fought as hard as she did to get to where she was now to be lost in the wake of destruction left by Hurricane Winchester blowing through her life again. Would she ever learn that those boys were _bad_ for her? If her subconscious could be believed, what she could remember of it now anyway, the answer to that question was a resounding _no_. 

What was she supposed to do now? Hide in Bobby Singer's guest room forever? _Or at least until some strange mystery event happens._ What the hell had Castiel been talking about? Hope thought he seemed like he hadn't wanted to say, and she couldn't begin to imagine what event could be so essential as to become a fixed point in time. A death, maybe? Sam's death seemed to be one of those. Or she guessed it could be a birth, but whose? Hope pondered the possibilities, wiping her tears when the realization hit her. She dropped her hands, flopping backward on the bed. Certainly not—no, it wasn't possible.

"Jokes on you, Cas," Hope muttered, covering the side of her face with one hand. "My heart wasn't the only thing broken six years ago." She shook her head, running her hands down her face. It couldn't be right; there had to be another explanation. Besides, for a child to be born, there had to be sex. And that, well, that wasn't happening—with anyone. Even for all the years of therapy, Hope never got further than not wanting to  _ try  _ to kill herself. She still drank too much; she'd lost all the spark in her life, just going through the motions most days. She'd learned to accept it, this new normal. It was better than where she was, but there was only so much Dr. Allen could do for her, and Hope had no desire to continue pretending she would get better eventually.

The truth was, after the night in the clearing, Hope couldn't handle being touched, which made trying to be with anyone impossible, and because of that, Hope didn't bother trying. In fact, Dean had been the last man to touch her six years ago. Exactly eight hours before Hope told Dean Winchester to go fuck himself, they'd taken the worst, cheesiest looking selfie Hope had ever seen, and they were standing side by side, his arm draped across her shoulder, and his cheek resting on the side of her head. Hope smiled a little, remembering like it was yesterday; the day was cold, but Dean had been so warm, and although being close to anyone made her nervous, standing next to him always brought her peace. At least it had then; now, it just seemed to confuse her. 

Just a few days ago, she told herself daily, sometimes hourly, that she was better off without Dean. Now, Hope sighed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if that were really true. This wasn't her life; she didn't have the first clue how to deal with any of this. It didn't matter now; none of it mattered now. How was she supposed to stay alive with angels after her? She knew Sam and Dean would try their best to keep her safe, but they were just men, and Hope highly doubted humans were any kind of match for an angel. Her life as she knew it was already over and Hope wasn't even sure it had been worth saving in the first place. 

Hope turned onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest. Laying in the dark of an unfamiliar room, her pulse raced and her breathing came in short, shallow breaths as a cold sweat broke out all over her body. She wrapped her arms around her legs, wiping her sweaty palms on the hospital gown she wore, then closed her eyes tight as her face twisted into a grimace. Hope took deep, forced breaths to keep from screaming, mostly because she didn't want to see Dean right now and he'd no doubt come running at the sound. After several eternally slow minutes, her breathing returned to normal and she dozed off.

Dean returned to the library, and Sam looked up at him with curious eyes as Dean leaned against the doorway, blowing out an exasperated breath. "How's she doing?" Sam asked, his brows knitted in concern. 

"How do you think she's doing, Sam?" Dean snapped, pushing away from the doorway and running a hand through his hair. He crossed the room and flopped down on the couch, resting his head on the back and staring at the ceiling. Sam handed him a half-full whiskey glass, and Dean rolled it between his fingers. "She's terrified, wants her life back, and she's still righteously pissed at me after all this time."

"Do you blame her?" Bobby quipped, not looking up from his journal. "I don't know what happened between you two before, but judging from the tone of Cas' voice earlier, it sounds like it wasn't pleasant. You wanna tell me about that?"

"No," Dean growled. "If I wanted to talk about it, I would've told you six years ago." Sam glared at Dean, then shook his head and turned to Bobby. Against Dean's threats and protests, Sam told Bobby everything, from the night Dean met Hope to keeping watch over her while she laid in a coma. When Sam finished, Dean's expression was murderous, and if looks could kill, Sam would have been a pile of smoldering ash on the rug. The only reason Sam was still breathing was that he'd had the good sense to not mention how terribly Dean suffered because of what he'd done or the cell phone full of memories.

Bobby leaned back in the chair, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "That's a helluva story, Sam. So, does she know?"

"Know what?" Sam asked, shaking his head in confusion.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Does she know the Pope is Catholic? What do you think, Sam?" He sighed, picking up his almost empty whiskey glass and finishing it off. "Does she know Dean's in love with her?"

Dean sputtered, choking on the drink he was swallowing. He glared at Sam with narrowed eyes, and Sam held up his hands in surrender. "What?! Sam said, his eyebrows raised. "You heard me tell him the story. I didn't say anything about _any_ of that, and I haven't mentioned her before. Ever. Have I, Bobby?" 

Sam glanced at Bobby with a 'help me out here' look, and Bobby shook his head. "The first time I ever heard the name Hope Bennett was about three hours ago when you walked her through that door."

"So then what makes you think I'm in love with her?" Dean growled, glaring at the ceiling as though it had personally ruined his life. "Because I'm not."

"Yeah, you are, ya damn idjit," Bobby shot back. "Anyone with eyes in their skull can see it. And she's in love with you too."

"No, she isn't." 

"Damn, boy, I knew you were stubborn, I just didn't think you were dumb too," Bobby snapped, gesturing toward the doorway. "That woman in there killed her own sister to save _your_ ass. No one does that for someone they hate." Bobby glanced at Sam, then back to Dean.

"So, how long _did_ it take Dean to get back to some semblance of normal after the two of you left Lawrence the first time?" Bobby asked, his eyes narrowing at Dean.

Sam swallowed hard, withering slightly under Dean's 'don't you dare' expression. "It was pretty bad for like two years, and I couldn't take seeing him like that anymore, so I asked Cas for help."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean growled, getting up from the couch and stomping to the kitchen. "Shut up! Just—shut up!" He leaned against the sink, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles turned white. The last thing he needed was the entire world knowing that Hope was nearly as important to him as Sam.

Dean ignored them as he stared out the window, only half listening to their conversation. "What did Cas do to help, exactly?" Bobby asked.

"An application of angelic Novacaine, I guess?" Sam said, shrugging. "He was going to take Dean's memories of Hope, but he couldn't. He said they were 'bound together,' whatever that means. Anyway, he did something and Dean could at least function again. I think he did it to Hope, too."

"I see," Bobby replied, his voice distant as his mind worked through the possibilities. Sam raised an eyebrow, regarding Bobby with a curious expression.

"Bobby?" Sam asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Well nothing yet, at least. But it does give me an idea where to start looking." Bobby stood up, going to a bookshelf in the far corner of the room, running his fingers along the shelf until he found the tome he was looking for. He pulled the leatherbound book from the shelf, blowing the dust off the top of the pages, then returned to his desk, dropping the book with a thud. The book's spine creaked softly as Bobby opened it, flipping through the pages and scanning the text with one finger.

"Well," Sam said, setting the mythology book he'd been studying aside. "I think I'm going to head to bed. Good night." 

Dean didn't even glance his direction as Sam left the room and didn't return to the library until silence replaced the stairs' creaking, indicating that Sam was really gone. Dean sat back down on the couch; the tense silence in the room was making his head hurt. Or was that the whiskey? Either way, he was over it.

"Interesting," Bobby muttered, reading a passage before turning the page and continuing the search. He grabbed a scrap of paper to mark the spot in the book, then closed it and stared at Dean.

"Don't be too hard on Sam," Bobby said gently. "He's only trying to help you."

"I don't see how he's _helping_ anything," Dean snapped. "If I didn't know him better, I would think this shit amuses him."

"Dean—" Bobby sighed, rubbing one of his temples with two fingers. "I know this is difficult for you to comprehend, but it's not an automatic death sentence to fall in love with someone."

"It is for them," Dean snapped, looking away. "If it wasn't for Cas, Hope would already be dead because me and Sam came back into her life. I broke my main rule six years ago and I got too attached to her. It was a mistake then; it's a mistake now, and it's only going to get Hope killed!"

"Honestly son, I don't think you had any choice in the matter," Bobby said with a small sigh. He glanced at the closed book in front of him but decided not to continue that line of conversation. He needed to do more research and be one hundred percent sure before he dropped that bomb on the two of them.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Of course I had a choice, and I chose wrong. Now Hope will probably die because of it, and it'll be my fault," Dean snapped, closing his eyes.

"Maybe, maybe not. But we aren't going to find the answer tonight, so I'm going to bed." Dean didn't respond, and Bobby sighed, heading for the door. He glanced over his shoulder at his adopted son, a small smile curving his lips at the sight of him stretched out across the couch. "G'night, Dean."

"'Night, Bobby," came the gruff reply. Dean didn't open his eyes and made no other indication he was even paying attention, but he knew it just the same when Bobby disappeared out of the doorway.

~~~~~

Dean reached for the bottle of whiskey, helping himself to another glass. Sam and Bobby had gone to bed a couple of hours before, but like most other nights, Dean couldn't sleep. Drinking was the only thing that typically helped, so that's what he did. He leaned back on the couch, taking a long sip from the glass, then closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the sofa. 

It had been an emotionally exhausting day, one of the worst he'd had in a while. Being near Hope without wanting to touch her was almost impossible, and he didn't like it. Dean _loved_ her once, and he'd thought the longer they spent apart, eventually, that ache for her would die, or at least not permeate every facet of his being like it once did. Unfortunately for him, he was wrong. He didn't know what he would do now because it wasn't like he could tell her how he felt; that chance passed six years ago. Hope was still hurt and angry with him, and if he was honest, he probably deserved every bit of her wrath. She would think he was crazy for holding onto everything for so long, wouldn't she?

_He may not give a damn about me, but I love that stubborn son of a bitch with everything I am._

Hope's words popped into Dean's head, and he suddenly realized that she might just be the only person who understood. Sam knew how Dean felt, of course, and apparently, Bobby did too, but neither of them _felt_ it. Maybe Hope did. Dean took another drink, sighing as he set the now empty glass on the table beside the couch. He stood up, then headed upstairs to crash for a few hours.

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard a muffled cry from the guest room. He thought about ignoring it; after all, Hope made it very clear she wanted to be left alone, but without any conscious thought, Dean walked to the door and paused, listening.

"No. No, please stop. Don't hurt me anymore, please!" Hope's muffled words hit Dean in the chest, and he tried the doorknob. Unlocked. At least in her desire to be alone, she hadn't literally locked him out. Dean pushed the door open, the hallway light casting a yellow rectangle glow on the floor and the end of the bed. Hope cried out again, and Dean moved automatically to the side of the bed, touching Hope gently on her arm. 

"Shh—shh, it's okay sweetheart, you're safe," Dean murmured in a soothing whisper, just like he used to do when Sam was little. Dean once again contemplated calling Hope sweetheart, and he couldn't help but wonder why it was so automatic for him to do it. It was almost as if he'd been doing it his whole life. He stroked Hope's hair, and she gasped and flailed, sitting bolt upright, her chest heaving and her skin slick with sweat. Hope shrank away from him, and he got up to leave her alone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You were having a nightmare and I know how bad mine can get, so I just thought—"

"Thank you," Hope croaked, avoiding his eyes. "I, uh—thanks." She blew out a breath, curling up on the bed. 

"Anytime, Hope." He moved toward the door, silently cursing himself for scaring her more. He paused at the door, turning back to her as he started to pull it closed. 

Hope laid on her side across the bed, curled up into the fetal position, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees. "Dean?" she asked in a small voice, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. 

"Hmm?" He stood, waiting. For what, he had no idea, but he had the feeling he'd wait for her for eternity if that's what she needed.

"Stay with me?" Hope asked, her voice still small but slightly hopeful now. "Please? You can leave after I get back to sleep if you want, I don't care."

Dean hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, closing the door as he went to the side of the bed. "Scoot over," he said gently as he stretched out, laying his head on the pillow. Hope did as he asked, moving to lay parallel to his body, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. Even this close, her breath hitched in her throat and she had trouble keeping her vision clear. 

They laid silently together, each hyper-aware of the other's closeness. Dean turned on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. He tensed when he felt the weight of Hope's trembling hand on his chest, her palm flat across the top of his heart, radiating warmth. Dean put his own hand over the top of hers, feeling every muscle in her arm go rigid.

"Sorry, I—" Hope mumbled, starting to pull away. She'd known better than to touch him, but she thought maybe feeling his heartbeat might steady her, the way it had so many times before. 

"It's okay," Dean replied, realizing that it really was. "You don't have to run away. I'm not going to hurt you, Hope. I don't know how long all this will go on before you can go back to your life, but no one will hurt you while you're here. I promise." He brushed his fingers across Hope's knuckles and felt her arm twitch as the shiver moved through her. She relaxed a little but still stayed alert for any perceived danger.

"And what happens then?" Hope swallowed as heat rushed to her face, and she was suddenly thrilled it was dark in the room. "After it's over, I mean."

There was a long pause before Dean answered. What could he tell her, really? "I don't know. I guess once it's over we can go back to our lives."

Hope detected a note of sadness in his voice she didn't understand. Isn't that what he wanted? To forget about her and move on with his life? "Is that what you want?"

"Isn't it what you want?" Dean asked, glancing down at her in the darkness. He couldn't see her face clearly, but it didn't matter. He was more concerned with why she'd asked the question. "Besides, it doesn't matter what I want, Hope. It only matters that you're safe and the farther away from me and Sam you are, the safer you'll be."

"It matters to me," Hope murmured, unable to believe she'd just uttered those words aloud. It was true; what he wanted _did_ matter to her, and she wondered for a moment when the last time was that anybody had asked him that question. "Besides, I think the 'Hope Bennett remains safe' ship sailed a long fucking time ago. I learned a long time ago that my life wasn't going to be some fairy tale, and there wasn't going to be anyone to come rescue me from the dragon. I can do that myself, so just don't use my safety as an excuse to leave. If you don't ever want to see me again, man up and just say it."

"Is that what you think?" Dean turned over and propped himself up on one elbow, staring at her through the darkness.

"I-I don't know," Hope replied, picking at the quilt under her. "I guess. It's what you said last time. At least this time I know, and I'm prepared. It's okay, Dean. Really."

"Dammit, Hope," Dean whispered, swallowing hard as he reached out and pulled her closer to him, and she didn't resist as he put his arms around her. Hope rested her head on his arm, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of him as tears misted her eyes and fell silently onto his shirt. 

Dean's shirt clung to his skin where Hope's tears fell, and he pulled back, using his free hand to tilt her face up toward his. His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb grazing across her cheek as he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers, questioning. Hope tensed, inhaling sharply at the unexpected sensation that set every nerve in her body on fire. God, she'd missed him.

She mimicked his movement, her lips brushing his so lightly they almost weren't touching at all. This was dangerous and they both knew it, but right then, it didn't matter. Hope kissed him again, harder this time, and he made a small sound in his throat as he moved his hand to bury his fingers in her hair. He deepened the kiss, and when his tongue met hers, Hope's heart did a somersault and she almost forgot how to breathe. 

Was she really doing this, even though she knew how it would end? Yes, yes, she was. Right then, it didn't matter that their time together might end in tears and tragedy. That was a problem for future Hope and Dean to deal with. All that mattered to her now was that they were both here, together, and he _wanted_ to kiss her. Everything else would just have to sort itself out.

Hope followed Dean's lead, gripping the front of his shirt in her hands as her body heated up from the inside out. She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps as she pulled away. Hope rolled onto her back as Dean stared in her direction, slightly confused. Overwhelming, aching need washed over Hope and she swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry," Dean breathed, frowning slightly. Hope turned toward him, laying a hand on his cheek, the two-day stubble of his beard tickling her palm.

"It's alright. There's nothing to be sorry for, I'm just—I can't. After that night, I've just never been able to...you know. This is the closest I've been to anyone since you left. Even if I could bring myself to do it, it's going to hurt enough when you leave me again. I don't want to add fuel to the fire." Hope laid back on the pillow, her hand falling away from Dean's face. There was a thick silence in the darkness between them, and Hope wished she could melt into the quilt and become invisible. After a few more moments, she turned her head toward him, trying and failing to see his face in the shadows. "If you want to leave now, I understand."

"Why would I do that?" he replied. "If you need me to stay with you, I'm here. If you don't, I'll go. Whatever else happens is up to you, sweetheart." Dean swallowed, clenching his jaw muscle. He _really_ needed to stop calling her that, but for some reason, he just couldn't. When she didn't say anything about the name, he pretended like he hadn't said it and opened his arms. "So what's it gonna be? Stay or go?"

Hope stared at him in the dark, biting her lip as she considered his words. "Stay," she said after a short silence, scooting closer to him as he put his arms around her. A small smile crossed her face as she rested her head in the crook of his arm and shoulder. "Definitely stay."


	15. Demons

Hope woke alone, covered with a thin blanket. She groaned as the midmorning sun streamed through the window like a laser beam pointed directly into her eyes. It was the first time in a long time she’d slept more than three or four hours without waking up gasping or screaming, covered in sweat, and Hope wondered how much of that had to do with Dean. She’d fallen asleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and much like everything else about him, it was a source of comfort when it wasn’t confusing the hell out of her.

Hope blinked, yawned, then sat up and looked around the room. It wasn’t a large bedroom, cozily decorated, and unused by the looks of it. Bobby Singer didn’t strike Hope as the type to have many overnight guests. She chuckled to herself as she stood up, glancing toward the chair in the corner of the room. A folded pile of clothes lay on the chair, with a note scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. 

_ Hope—I wasn’t sure of your size, but I think these might work for now. Get dressed, and I’ll see you outside. —Dean _

Hope grinned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and wondering where he’d gotten women’s clothing on such short notice. She decided that it didn’t matter; it was the thought that counted, right? Hope picked up the clothes, unfolding and laying them out on the bed. Black jeans with blown-out knees, a black racerback tank top with a faded whiskey label graphic on the front, a blue plaid button-down shirt, and black boots. 

“Well, someone  _ really _ likes black,” Hope muttered. Although, she supposed black did hide bloodstains better. Maybe the clothes belonged to another hunter? She shrugged the idea away, untying the hospital gown, then sat down on the bed and pulled the jeans on. They were a bit snug, but they hugged her curves in all the right places. She pulled the tank top on over her head and shrugged into the button-down shirt, glancing up and noticing herself in the dresser mirror for the first time. 

Her shoulder-length hair was tangled and unruly, and her eyes looked too big for her face over sunken cheeks and the tell-tale dark smudges of too much whiskey and not enough sleep. Hope pulled the boots on, lacing them up one-handed. She tried running her fingers through her hair, giving up halfway through, determined to cut it off the next time she was near a pair of scissors. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever came next, then left the room.

Hope could hear Sam, Dean, and Bobby talking as she approached, then a woman said something, and Bobby chuckled. Who was she? Was that where Dean got the clothes from? Curiosity burned in Hope’s mind, propelling her forward down the hall. The library fell silent for a moment when she appeared, and Dean gave her a warm smile as she leaned against the doorway. 

As far as Hope could remember, Dean had never looked at her that way before, and she found it both intriguing and unnerving. His eyes were soft as he watched her, and color rushed to her face under his gaze. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Bobby quipped. “You hungry?” Hope glanced at him, flashing a lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “I actually am.” All she’d had to eat since leaving the hospital was half a sandwich last night, and her stomach growled in protest. Hope didn’t eat much usually, but even her stomach had limits to its emptiness.

The woman whose voice Hope heard stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Since these boys seem to have forgotten their manners, I’m Jody.” 

“Hope,” she replied, taking Jody’s hand as she studied her. “Nice to meet you.” Jody didn’t seem that much older than Hope, with soft, motherly brown eyes and dark hair styled in a pixie cut. “Thanks for the clothes. I’m assuming that was you?”

“Yeah,” Jody replied with a small smile. “Dean called this morning and told me what happened at the hospital, asked if I could help. Those are just some of my daughter’s old clothes. I’m glad they fit.” Jody glanced fondly over her shoulder toward the kitchen, where Dean stood over the stove, dumping eggs and bacon on a plate.

Dean turned away from the stove, setting the plate on the kitchen table. He pointed at Hope, then at the plate. “You, eat.”

“Yes, mom,” Hope muttered, rolling her eyes and stomping to the kitchen. Her annoyance faded as her stomach growled again at the smell of the food. 

“I like her,” Jody said with a smile as she turned to Bobby. “Dean said she’s not a hunter?”

“She’s not,” Bobby replied, glancing up from his notes. Sam said something smartass to Dean in the kitchen and Hope started laughing, and the corner of Bobby’s mouth twitched in a smile as he turned his gaze to Jody. “She’s a doctor. A trauma surgeon, actually.”

Jody’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How did she meet those two?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Bobby replied with a shrug. “All I got was she comes from a family of monsters, and she stabbed her sister to save Dean.”

“Wait—what?” Jody said, the surprised expression returning. “Really?” Bobby nodded, returning his attention to his notes. 

Jody walked into the kitchen where Sam, Dean, and Hope were all sitting around the table, and Sam was telling Hope about one of their ghost hunts a couple of years ago. Hope sat quietly, her expression somewhere between horror and fascination. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Jody,” Dean replied. “Thanks for helping out.”

“No problem,” Jody replied thoughtfully. “Hey, Hope?”

Hope froze, every muscle in her body tense as she slowly kept chewing her eggs. She swallowed, then lifted her gaze to Jody. “Yes?” 

Jody didn’t miss the note of suspicion in Hope’s voice or the way she seemed almost  _ afraid _ of everyone around her, except Dean. There was definitely a story there. “So, if you want, and these two don’t mind, I thought maybe I could take you into town to pick up a few more things.”

Hope’s expression became wary, and she glanced at Dean and then Sam for reassurance. She didn’t know Jody at all, and Hope didn’t make it a habit to say yes to anything anymore, having learned  _ that  _ particular lesson the hard way. But if the brothers trusted her, she couldn’t be all that bad, right? Dean gave Hope an encouraging nod, and Hope looked back at Jody. “Sure,” Hope said with a tight smile, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Jody glanced at Hope’s almost empty plate. “Meet you outside in ten minutes?”

Hope stared at her plate, anxiety rolling around in her stomach as she nodded. “Sure,” she mumbled. Hope didn’t lift her gaze until Jody left the room, then looked at Dean with terrified eyes. She bit her lip, her frustration with herself trying to claw its way out of her chest, and she covered her face with one hand to try and hide it.

“Hey,” Sam said gently. “It’s alright. Jody’s good people. You’ll be safe with her.” Hope nodded, gently pushing her plate away. Between the anxiety and frustration, her appetite had vanished.

“Well, I guess I better go get this over with then,” Hope muttered, standing up with a sigh and heading for the door.

“Hey, Hope,” Dean called to her after she’d left the room. She turned back and saw him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a sheathed hunting knife. “Take this, just in case. Not saying anything’s going to happen, but better safe than sorry, right? Now, it won’t kill an angel, but it will slow it down. And you can use this to get whatever you need.” Dean handed her a credit card with a fake name, and she stared at it for a moment before nodding and taking the card and weapon.

“Thanks,” she said, swallowing hard. So this was her life now, carrying weapons everywhere she went and committing credit card fraud.  _ How the mighty have fallen _ , quipped the little voice inside her head. Hope resisted the urge to roll her eyes and give away the thoughts inside her head. Over the years, the voices in her head were a comfort, but sometimes she wondered if she wasn’t actually crazy. “I’ll see you guys in a little while then.”

“Be careful,” Sam said with a tight smile. Hope nodded, then left the house, the screen door slamming behind her. 

~~~~~

Silence filled the car as Hope tried to keep herself calm. Jody gave her a sideways glance from time to time but hadn’t said anything, and they were halfway to Sioux Falls before either of them spoke. 

“So how did you meet Sam and Dean?” Hope asked finally, her curiosity getting the better of her. Jody chuckled lightly, glancing at Hope then back at the road. 

“That is quite the story. I’ve known Bobby a long time, but our relationship hasn’t always been friendly. A few years ago, the boys were running down a lead for a case Bobby needed help with. I ended up arresting them for generally shady behavior and the thing they were hunting found them at the station. Sam and Dean saved everyone that was there that night. After that, the rest is history. What about you?”

“Well,” Hope started, pressing her lips into a thin line as she tried to decide how much to share. “I met Sam a few times several years ago while we were still in college at Stanford. He was a freshman when I was starting med school and we knew some of the same people. My mom died right before I graduated, and I came back home to help my dad out, and I did my residency at the hospital in Lawrence. Then, six years ago, I met Dean.” Silence fell between them as Hope chewed the inside of her cheek, then took a deep breath and told Jody the story of the night she met Dean, leaving out the part about them finding her in the clearing.

“Interesting,” Jody remarked, not looking at Hope. “I wonder what the boys were doing in Lawrence. That place holds a lotta memories for them, and only a few of them are good.”

Hope grimaced, fixing her gaze out the passenger window. No wonder Dean didn’t tell her much about himself before. She’d learned more about him in the last couple of days than she had in the three months they spent as friends before it all went to hell. Hope cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “They were hunting my dad. At the time, they thought he was the only one, but they were wrong, and my sister was like him—only insane, apparently. The night he and Sam killed my dad and Dean showed me what they’d done, we had words and I told him to go fuck himself and we hadn’t spoken since until about five days ago.”

Jody chuckled at that, then shook her head. “What happened five days ago?”

“My sister happened,” Hope said flatly. “She almost killed Sam and she shot Dean.”

“Oh my God,” Jody breathed, letting the subject drop. She didn’t have to be a genius to piece together what happened after that, and she got the vague sense that Hope didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“So where do you want to go first?” Jody asked as they passed the Sioux Falls city limits sign. 

Hope shrugged.  _ Home. _ “I guess to a thrift shop or something. If my life is about to get as messy as I think it is, I don’t want brand new clothes.”

’Honey, you have no idea.” Jody said with an ironic laugh, heading in the direction of the thrift shop.

Two hours, three stores, and a few hundred dollars later, Hope had a new phone and a new-to-her wardrobe as well as a few other essentials, like a damn hairbrush. They were headed back to Jody’s truck, laughing at some sarcastic observation Hope made when their path was blocked by three people, two men and a woman. 

Jody pulled Hope gently behind her, placing herself between Hope and the others. One of the men gave Jody a sardonic smile, tilting his head to the side as his eyes turned black. “We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if you don’t give us the girl.”

“Never gonna happen,” Jody snarled, reaching for her taser. Her gun wouldn’t stop a demon, but a taser would give them enough time to get away. Hope’s eyebrows shot up and she reached for the knife Dean gave her, her fingers curling around the handle as she pressed the spine of the blade against her forearm.

“Aww, it’s cute how you think you have a choice,” the woman retorted as the three of them started toward Hope and Jody.

“Hope, run!” Jody said, glancing at Hope. Hope’s expression changed from terrified to vengeful in the blink of an eye, and she adamantly shook her head.

“I’m  _ not  _ running, and this will  _ not  _ be my life,” Hope growled, nodding to Jody. “Let’s do this.”

Jody nodded back, and the two of them stood back to back as the three demons circled around them, laughing maniacally. One charged toward Hope, but she sidestepped and swung with the knife, slicing the monster across the chest. The red line that appeared was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and she stared at it for a moment in shock.

“You, bitch!” The demon screeched, charging at Hope at full speed. Hope sidestepped again, jamming the knife into the demon’s neck, severing its carotid artery as it stumbled past Hope. She watched in horror as the demon’s skeleton flickered, glowing under its skin before the thing hit the ground, dead. 

Terrified as she was, Hope decided to run with it. She yanked the bloody knife free of the now-dead demon and turned to the others. “Are the rest of you feeling brave? I’ve already killed one of your friends, do either of you want to be next?”

The demons roared and charged at her. “Okay, that didn’t go as planned,” Hope muttered under her breath. The demons sent Hope and Jody flying through the air and crashing against the side of the building, knocking Jody unconscious and leaving Hope gasping for breath. She thought she heard a rib or two crack when she collided with the wall, but now wasn’t the time to worry about pain. She could still breathe, so she needed to get up.

“Fuck me,” Hope groaned, shaking her head as she used the wall to pull herself back up. With a guttural growl, she charged the demon who threw her. She gritted her teeth and stabbed it through the chest, savagely ripping the blade out and sending blood splattering across the front of her clothes as she did. 

Hope spun, wild-eyed, looking for Jody. She was just starting to come to, shaking her head and trying desperately to get away from the demon bearing down on her. Hope’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as she watched the demon pick up Jody and start choking the life out of her. Jody flailed, her arms and legs making contact but not doing much damage to the demon. It let out a maniacal laugh, squeezing Jody’s throat harder as her face turned a darker shade of purple.

“I don’t think so, asshat,” Hope growled as she sprinted the thirty feet between them, skidding to a stop as she buried the knife in the demon’s back, yanking it out as she pulled the monster off Jody, then punched it in the face for good measure. Jody collapsed to the ground, and Hope held out an arm to help her up. “You okay?”

Jody coughed, sputtering as she took Hope’s outstretched hand and got to her feet. “I will be, thanks to you. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Hope shrugged, glancing down at her ruined clothing and huffed. “Dammit,” she muttered, then shrugged and wiped the knife on her thigh and returned it to the sheath in the waistband of her jeans. “I took a self-defense class a couple of years ago. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Jody said, her eyes wide. “You just took on three demons, and you have barely a scratch on you. I’d say that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I do have scratches,” Hope insisted, holding her arms out in front of herself as she examined her injuries, “and I’m pretty sure my ribs are cracked from where that thing threw me.” She took a couple of experimental breaths against the piercing pain in her lungs. “Wait—those were demons?” She pulled the knife out of its sheath again and stared at it. “Then what kind of knife is this, anyway?”

“That, my dear,” Jody said, still slightly out of breath, “is one of Dean Winchester’s most prized possessions, the demon-killing blade. It’s one of a kind. He really wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Wha—why would he give this to me?” Hope said, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked at Jody with round, terrified eyes. “What if I’d lost it?”

Jody shook her head, gesturing for Hope to walk with her as she headed back to her truck. “I think, in his mind, if losing the blade meant you had a chance to get away from whatever was after you, then it would be worth it. You must mean a lot to him.”

Hope sputtered as though she’d just been punched in the diaphragm. Jody couldn’t be serious; there was no way. There had to be another explanation, like that was just the knife he had on him at the time, and giving it to her didn’t mean anything other than ‘I want you to be safe.’ Yeah, that had to be it. It was the explanation Hope was going with anyway.

“Come on,” Jody said, smirking at Hope. “Let’s head back and get cleaned up. Something tells me it’s going to be an interesting afternoon.”

~~~~~

By the third hour of Hope and Jody being gone, Dean was climbing the walls so bad that Bobby threatened to shoot him if he didn’t get the hell out of the house and go find something to do besides bother him and Sam. So, Dean did the only thing he could think of to calm down and pulled Baby into Bobby’s garage and set to work giving her a tuneup.

His insides were finally settling down when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel out in the driveway, and his chest tightened when he peeked out from the side of the hood to see Jody’s truck rolling to a stop. Dean took the first full breath he had since Hope left that morning, only for it to rush out of him as soon as they both stepped out of the truck. He dropped the socket wrench onto the tool tray and practically sprinted over to them.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Dean demanded, taking Hope by the shoulders and staring at the bloodstain across the front of her shirt, trying to decide if it was her blood. When she muttered, “no, not really,” Dean put both hands on either side of her face as though he were about to kiss her, then grabbed her shoulders again, pulling her into a tight embrace. Hope went rigid in his arms, but he didn’t notice as he released her. “What happened?” He demanded again.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” Jody said with a soft smile. Dean frowned then shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Jody. I’m glad you’re okay. Now, will someone please tell me what the hell happened?” Dean said.

“Demons,” Jody replied with a sigh, grabbing Hope’s bags from the backseat of the truck and handing them to her. “It was demons.”

“Demons?” Dean echoed, frowning. “What did they want?”

“What do you think?” Hope snapped, heading for the house. “Me. Oh, and  _ thanks so much _ for letting me know you gave me a demon-killing blade.”

Dean shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “A blade’s a blade. Stick somebody with the pointy end and they bleed, doesn’t matter who or what they are.”

“Tell me about it.” Hope gestured to the front of her borrowed tank top. “But it would’ve been nice to have some warning that they light up like they just stuck their tongue in a light socket. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a shower and get the ick off me.”

Jody turned to Dean as Hope disappeared inside the house. “So what’s going on between you two?”

“Straight to the point, as always,” Dean replied, returning to his work under the hood of the Impala. “How much did she tell you?” The socket wrench clicked furiously as Dean worked, reminding Jody of one of those old wind up toy monkeys.

“Not nearly enough, apparently. Have you seen her fight?” Jody asked, her eyes wide and round. Dean snorted, shaking his head. 

“Only once,” he replied. “The night her sister was trying to kill me and Sam. She took out the guy guarding her and the one that was about to kill Sam before Heather stabbed her in the heart.”

“I asked her where she learned to fight like that. You know what she said?” Dean shook his head and Jody continued. “She said she took a self-defense class a couple of years ago and it was—and I quote, ‘no big deal.’” Jody hooked her fingers into air quotes, and Dean glanced up at her from under the hood, flashing her a lopsided grin as she continued. “No big deal my ass, she pretty much took down those demons by herself after they threw us against the wall. When I regained consciousness a few minutes later, two out of the three were already dead. Hope saved my life.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, reaching across and grabbing a socket from the tray. “She’s pretty great.” Jody gave Dean a sideways glance. Was that pride, love, or both in his tone? Who was this girl to him anyway? 

The screen door slammed, drawing both their attention toward the house. Dean stood up, wiping his hands again as Sam waved them inside. Jody glanced at Dean, who shrugged and set the rag down and led the way inside.

“What’s going on, Bobby?” Dean asked as he and Jody entered the library. Sam and Hope were already there, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Sam’s expression was excited, but Hope’s was unreadable, worrying Dean. 

“Well, after getting an idea last night while we were talking about the Moirai and whatnot, I’ve been doing some digging through the lore, and I think I may have figured out why Cas says the two of you are bound together.” Bobby gestured between Dean and Hope, and Dean swallowed hard as he watched the color leave Hope’s face

“So what is it?” Dean asked, frowning. “And so help me God if you say fate, I’m going to put my fist through a wall.”

“Well, you better pour yourselves something to drink and sit down. This is gonna be one hell of a story,” Bobby said. 


	16. Story of My Life

Sam grabbed himself and Jody a beer from the fridge, while Dean poured a couple of glasses of whiskey, handing one off to Hope as he sat down on the couch between her and Sam. Jody sat down on one of the chairs near the desk, her curiosity piqued. Bobby cleared his throat, pouring his own glass, then opened the tome he’d been studying and cleared his throat. 

Bobby glanced around the room, and everyone’s eyes were glued to him, eagerly waiting for him to drop information bombs on them. But this wasn’t just an information bomb, was it? It was the atomic mother of information bombs. He shook his head slightly, taking a sip of the whiskey. _The only way out is through. Here goes nothing._

“So how familiar are you guys with the works of Plato?” Bobby asked. Hope and Sam glanced at each other, giving each other half-smiles. They’d taken the same philosophy class at Stanford, three years apart, and the professor _adored_ Plato. 

“Hope and I are pretty familiar,” Sam said, shaking his head at the memories. Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam but chose not to say anything. He took a sip of his whiskey and shrugged, staring at the glass, and Jody nodded for Bobby to continue. 

“There’s a story by Plato that talks about mankind’s original form,” Bobby started, glancing between Hope and Sam. 

“Yeah,” Hope interrupted. “I know this one. Plato had this theory that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and two faces, but Zeus feared their power and tore them apart, leaving humans doomed to spend their lives searching for their other half.” 

“Exactly,” Bobby said as he flashed a tight smile that was partially hidden behind his beard. “That story is where the modern concept of soulmates started. Thing is, if you go back far enough, Plato’s theory is just the tip of the iceberg.” 

Hope already didn’t like where Bobby was going with this. She took a sip of her whiskey, trying to pretend like her stomach wasn’t a writhing ball of anxiety currently trying to set her guts on fire. Jody glanced between Hope and Dean, amusement curving the corners of her mouth. Soulmates would actually explain so much of what she’d already seen. 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, eyes bright with curiosity. 

“The ancient Greeks believed that everything—Life, Death, Gods, Goddesses, Deities, and whatever else sprang forth from some pit of primordial ooze. Even God came from this stuff.” 

“God? Like _God_ , God?” Dean asked, getting a nod from Bobby. 

“Anyway, God had the power to create light from darkness, along with vast galaxies, which he did. He was insatiably curious and according to the lore, all the different forms of life on Earth, Heaven, or Hell were all the answers to his ‘what-if’ questions.”

“Somebody should’ve told him to put down the creation wand when he decided to make spiders,” Hope muttered, shuddering. “The world definitely wouldn’t have missed them.” 

Sam snickered, and Bobby gave them both a soft ‘let me finish’ glare. “Anyway, when God created the angels, he made them as multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent. These creations were devoted to only him, bound by his rules and there to protect him should the need arise. Then, several ages later, God asked the what-if question again.” 

“Lemme guess—” Dean interjected, snapping his fingers and gesturing at Bobby, “dragons.” Hope snorted, taking a long sip of her whiskey to stifle her grin. 

“No, ya idjit,” Bobby said, staring at Dean with an ‘are you stupid’ expression. Dean shrugged, taking a drink from his glass. He’d known the answer wasn’t dragons; he just didn’t want Bobby to keep talking because the more Bobby talked, the more everything Sam said in the hospital made sense. The more a lot of things made sense, and it was too much to deal with. He didn’t _want_ it to be true. Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate, because although he’d never admit it to anyone else, he’d at least started to consider the vague possibility that he was in love with Hope. Baby steps. 

“Anyway,” Bobby said, pursing his lips before continuing, “God set out to create angels, but with the ability to reason and make decisions on their own without God’s interference. Apparently, he was tired of being a shepherd eons ago.” 

“So, you’re saying that humans were created from angels?” Jody asked, her eyebrows raised in a wide-eyed expression of interest and confusion. 

Bobby turned his gaze on her, shaking his head. “Yes and no. Apparently, the human soul started out the same way angels did, as multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent, with just a few new features thrown in. He thought these new creations were the most beautiful, flawed things in the universe, and he set out to create a form that could hold them.” 

“The original human form,” Sam breathed, leaning back against the couch with a slightly dazed expression. “The one Plato described.” 

“Bingo,” Bobby said with a small smile. He flipped to the page he’d marked with the paper scrap the night before, scanning the text. “Zeus feared them, tore them in half, yadda, yadda, yadda. Problem was, when he split them, he didn’t have the power to split the souls. The soul was too much for the new form, and the soul would burn through it so fast that humans almost went extinct.” 

“So what happened?” Hope asked, swallowing down the last of the whiskey in her glass. Dean reached across Sam, picking up the bottle from the end table where he’d set it and refilling both their glasses. 

“According to the lore, Ananke and her daughters, the Moirai, presented a solution to God. Divide the soul like a puzzle piece, housing each part in one of the new forms. This way, God could still have his creations, and Zeus wouldn’t fear them. God agreed to this, with the exception of certain souls, the ones he deemed his favorites, I suppose,” Bobby paused, taking a deep breath as the others silently contemplated the idea. “For those souls, God wanted them split exactly to create a mirror image of each half, like the opposite ends of a magnet.” 

Dean made a sour face at Bobby’s mention of the Moirai. “And how exactly is that different from the others?” he demanded. 

“Well, if you take into account the average lifespan of a human and the population of this world—not to mention other worlds and galaxies God’s no doubt created, the chances of a human actually _finding_ their soulmate during their lifetime are basically one in infinity.” 

Bobby pointed to a page in the book in front of him. “Mirrored souls, as this book calls them anyway, are like cosmic magnets. They will always find their way to each other throughout space and time, no matter what.” 

Hope let out a breath as though she’d just been punched in the gut. She stood up, setting the once again empty whiskey glass on the table, then paced the length of the room, chewing on her thumbnail. Had her coma dreams been something else? It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t _be_ possible. She stopped pacing, lifting her gaze to Bobby, her brown eyes wide and terrified. “Oh my God,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no.” 

“What?” Dean said, jumping to his feet. “What is it?” Hope glanced at him, and under normal circumstances, she might find his concerned expression comforting, but right now, not so much. 

“I-It’s nothing, really,” Hope lied. No words would even come close to try and explain her trippy dreams, and Hope didn’t have the energy to search for them. How could she tell him about the things she’d seen? The _memories_ of their lives together with their children? Especially when most of them were nothing but fuzzy blobs now, and Hope would get a raging headache if she tried to force herself to make them more precise. The one she _did_ remember clearly, the one where angels murdered their children, was too horrible to try and put into words. 

Hope glanced at Dean, then Bobby. “There has to be another explanation. There’s no way that we’re—” she grimaced, her face pinched into a sour look, “we’re _that_.” 

“Pretty sure there isn’t,” Sam said quietly, watching the two of them from his seat on the couch. “Cas said you guys are bound, so unless there’s some sort of magic we’ve never seen before involved, this is the answer.” 

“No,” Hope insisted, “it’s not true. Or it could be true, I guess—for someone else.” 

Hope’s words stung Dean more than he expected, and for a moment, he forgot about everyone else in the room. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Hope shot Dean an incredulous look, anguish darkening her eyes. “You’re seriously going to ask me that? You—the one who walked away without a second thought six years ago?” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought to keep her voice from trembling. Hope refused to let everyone see how Dean leaving had affected her. 

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Hope?” Dean shot back. “I was trying to keep you safe! The average lifespan of the people me and Sam care about diminishes dramatically when they are close to us. I _needed_ you to let me go, and the best way for me to do that was to make you hate me.” 

“No,” Hope sneered, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Telling me the truth was the _best_ way. You took the _easiest_ way—for you, because you’re a coward and because fuck everyone else. Who cares if they might have something to lose? As long as the great Dean Winchester doesn’t get inconvenienced by some pesky _feelings_ everything is right with the world.” 

Dean’s nostrils flared as he crossed the room, standing in front of Hope and blocking her path. She glared up at him, and he glowered back at her, his expression a mixture of anger and pain. “You think walking away from you was easy for me?! Have you lost your fucking mind?” he bellowed. 

“Yeah, I do,” Hope retorted, her voice low and accusing. She took a step forward, ignoring the waves of fury that rolled off him like a tsunami, getting close enough to him that their bodies almost touched. “After all, I was just a job and you were just a temporary fix for my fucked up little life—remember?” Dean’s face paled at her words, and he glanced away in shame. He remembered that. He remembered all of it. If only he had been brave enough to tell her the truth, maybe it would’ve been different. He didn’t see how, but it might’ve been. 

Hope took a step back, her breath hitching in her chest. Her ribs were definitely cracked, and trying to keep from breaking down in the middle of Bobby’s library was too much for her. “I don’t know why you even bothered spending time with me after finding me in that clearing. I know you and Sam felt sorry for me, for what happened that night. Maybe you were just trying to help, but in the end, it was just another job to you, and I was just another one in a long list of forgettable girls that got lost in the wake of Hurricane Dean blowing through their lives.” 

Hope sighed and threw up her hands. “I can’t do this,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I just can’t. I need some air.” She turned on her heel and practically sprinted from the room, putting as much distance as she could between them. 

“Hope, wait!” Dean said, torn between going after her or giving her the space she said she needed. 

Hope heard Dean calling for her, but she couldn’t face him now. She couldn’t face any of them now. The screen door fell shut behind her with a bang, and she jogged down the steps, then took off at a full sprint, getting lost in the piles of junked cars as she let the tears fall. She ran until the burning ache in her lungs was so great she thought she might faint, then she leaned against a pile of tires, wheezing as she fought to regain her composure. 

By the time Dean reached the porch, Hope was gone. He scanned the junkyard for any sign of movement but found nothing. Where the hell had she gone? “Hope?” he called, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden stairs as he descended. 

~~~~~ 

“So—that happened,” Jody said, glancing toward the door. “Do you think they forgot we were here, or…” her voice trailed off as she frowned at Sam and Bobby. 

Sam snorted, covering his mouth with one hand. “Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “They did.” 

Bobby cleared his throat. He didn’t want to ask the obvious question, but his curiosity got the better of him. “So, uh, what was Hope talking about when she said ‘that night in the clearing?’” 

Sam ran a hand down his face, then stood up from the couch and went to the trash can, the plastic thud of the beer bottle dropping into it echoing around the room. “Well, um, it’s probably not something I should tell you.” He turned away from them, staring out through the window over the kitchen sink. Hope would probably murder him if he told anyone her secret, but at the same time, she had put it out there for everyone. 

“Just spit it out, Sam,” Jody said gently. “What is it?” 

Sam cleared his throat, turning around and leaning against the kitchen sink. He scratched absently at the stubble on his face, not looking at either of them. “We were hunting her father at the time, then found out her sister was a monster too. They were Kitsunes. I suggested that Dean befriend Hope to make it easier to take them out. It really was just supposed to be a job. I did this—to both of them.” He hung his head in shame, his hair falling across his face and hiding the sadness in his eyes. “I never meant for this to happen. It’s not something we hadn’t done before, but nobody ended up—like them.” Sam gestured vaguely toward the door, and Jody got up from the chair and went to him, her stance mimicking his as she leaned against the counter. 

“That’s not the worst part,” he said, staring at the floor as the guilt of his part in the whole mess threatened to eat him alive. “The night Hope and Dean met, Hope was attacked. Somebody shot her up with roofies, then drug her into this clearing in the woods where others were waiting, and they tied her up. I don’t know how many of them actually raped her, but it was at least two, maybe more, by the time Dean and I found her.” 

“Oh my god,” Jody breathed, her hand going up to cover her mouth. Sam nodded, his lips tightening into a thin line. “Sam, look at me,” she said, turning and taking him by the arms. He complied, raising his gaze to meet hers, his eyes full of worry and guilt. “Whatever’s going on between Dean and Hope now, that’s not your fault. I don’t even think anything that happened way back then could be considered your fault, either. If what Bobby said is right, they would’ve met with or without you. Eventually, anyway.” 

“Jody’s right, son,” Bobby added. “This ain’t your fault.” 

“Then why does it feel like it is?” 

~~~~~ 

“Dammit, Hope, where are you?” Dean muttered as he wandered aimlessly around the salvage yard. Panic gripped his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe as he called her name and got no answer but there rustling of leaves across the ground. 

Fear and guilt tore at him, clawing his insides to shreds as Dean oscillated between blaming Sam for all of this and thanking him for it. Dean meeting Hope _was_ Sam’s idea, after all, and if Dean wanted to skate on some razor-thin logic, he could go as far as believing it was Sam’s fault for meeting Hope at all while at Stanford. That belief would never hold up over time, but then again, he didn’t need it to. He just needed to be able to blame someone other than himself right now because he couldn’t accept that he’d been the one to cause that anguish he’d seen in her eyes. 

Deep down, Dean knew the truth. He was poison, and he ruined everything; he always had. Before hell, he was borderline toxic on the best of days, but the bad ones? Poor Sammy—or anyone else who had the misfortune of getting too close, for that matter. But after Cas pulled him out of hell, he was even worse, and he’d met Hope during the worst of the bad times. How Hope, Sam, or anyone saw any good in him anymore was beyond his comprehension, because Dean sure as hell didn’t see it in himself. 

The worst part was, Hope wasn’t wrong. He had been a coward and took the easy way out. He’d known he was going to hurt her, but he hadn’t expected everything else. How could he have seen that coming? Loving Hope wasn’t a choice he’d consciously made; it was as automatic as breathing, and right now, he needed to find her and tell her all the things he should have said that night. 

“Hope! Where are you?” Dean called, rounding the end of a pile of junked cars and coming face to face with a woman. He reached for the knife in his waistband, then remembered he’d given it to Hope. 

“Hey, Dean,” said the woman as her eyes turned black. “Remember me?” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean quipped, flashing a sarcastic smile, “you’re not pretty enough to remember.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Dean. I’d hate for my friend to get too excited and snap your little pet’s neck.” 

Dean’s eyes darkened with fury as the demon tilted her chin toward the pile behind him, and he turned to see another demon emerge from behind the cars, one hand clamped over Hope’s mouth and the other around her throat. 

Hope’s eyes were bloodshot and wide as she stood trembling and unable to break free of the demon’s grasp. She cursed herself for not putting the knife back on after she’d showered and for running away from the safety of the house. Hope had heard Dean calling for her, and she’d chosen not to answer, feeling petty and vindicated at his obvious discomfort. Until that is, she rounded a corner and ran smack into tweedle-dee and tweedle-doofus. Now, her immaturity might get both of them killed and bring about the end of the world. 

Dean’s jaw muscle twitched as he eyed the Demon holding Hope, and when he turned his black glare on her, the woman flinched, taking an involuntary step backward.. “Let. her. Go.” 

“Now, now,” the woman said, “no need to be so dramatic. I fully intend to let her go—eventually. But I need something from you first.” 

“You mean like me stabbing you in the throat?” Dean growled, watching the demon as she moved. “Because that’s the only help you’re going to get from me, bitch.” 

The woman gave an ironic laugh, then moved to stand in front of him, her full mouth curved into an evil grin. “We both know if you had a weapon you would’ve used it already.” Her voice was low as she walked in a circle around him, trailing her fingers across his shoulders. “You aren’t exactly known for keeping your, um, _weapon_ in your pants.” 

Hope shuddered, horrified as she watched the two of them. The demon who held her captive tightened his grip and the edges of Hope’s vision started to narrow into darkness. She let out a small gurgling sound, and Dean’s head snapped toward Hope, the demon in front of him forgotten at the moment. 

“Cas?” Dean called, ignoring the peals of laughter from the demon. “C’mon Cas, need a little help down here.” 

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” the woman said, her expression a mask of feigned surprise. “Your precious Castiel is _gone_. He got zapped back to the mothership after his little adventure in saving your pet over there.” 

Dean swallowed hard, feigning disinterest. He would not give this bitch the satisfaction of seeing his reaction. Dean opened his mouth to say something sarcastic when a shotgun cocked above them; he glanced up over his shoulder to see Sam standing on the trunk of a crushed car, pointing the weapon at the demon in front of Dean. Two other shotguns cocked, and Dean followed the sound to find Bobby and Jody coming toward them on the ground from both directions. “Aw damn,” Dean quipped, pouting sarcastically as he took a step backward, grasping his wrist behind his back and holding out his hand, waiting for the right moment. “That’s all the time we have to play today—so piss off, bitch.” 

“Not so fast, asshole,” the demon bitch replied, turning her attention away from Dean for just a moment, long enough for Sam to drop the blade straight into Dean’s outstretched hand. “I still have your pet.” 

“Not for long,” Bobby said, taking aim at the demon holding Hope, who cowered behind her. Dean flashed the blade, catching Hope’s attention, and her eyes widened in understanding. Hope struggled against the demon that held her, drawing everyone’s attention to her as she tried to give Bobby a better shot. 

“You’re not going to kill her. You need her,” she said, her voice growing more nervous as she spoke. 

“You’re right, bitch,” Dean said. “Those shotguns are full of rock salt. It’ll sting like a mother if she gets hit with it, but it won’t kill her.” Hope’s frustration mounted, and she twisted in the demon’s grasp, throwing her head back into his chin. The world spun around her as stars burst across her eyes like fireworks, and blood gushed from the demon’s nose and lip. He released her, and Hope ducked, covering her face with her arms and curling into herself as dual shotgun blasts ripped through the air, showering Hope with a spray of rock salt. The shots found their intended target, pelting Hope’s captor. The smell of burning flesh and salt filled the air around them as the other demon screeched and tore out of its meatsuit in a cloud of black smoke. 

Dean grinned at the demon standing in front of him, but his eyes were cold, dead. “You on the other hand, well—” he sucked in a breath through his teeth in a hiss, “it won’t be pretty.” In a single motion, Dean brought the knife out from behind him and drove it into the hellbitch’s chest all the way to the hilt. His smile widened at the sight of her skeleton glowing and flickering beneath her skin before going out entirely as he yanked the blade free, wiping it on the side of his jeans. 

“Hope?” Dean crossed the distance between them, touching her shoulder lightly to get her attention. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Hope shook her head, almost melting into his embrace, their earlier argument forgotten for now. 

“I-I’m fine,” Hope whispered, then pulled away from him, suddenly remembering why they were even out here in the first place. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away from you like that.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Dean replied, his voice rising in irritation, then softening. “But everything’s okay now. We’re all alive, and no one was possessed. Right?” He gave Hope a pointed look, and she took a step back from him. 

“I’m not possessed, Dean. They tried, but—” she fished something out of her jeans pocket, “I guess that’s what this thing does?” 

Hope held up a silver charm on a length of leather cord, and Dean was so relieved, he grabbed both sides of her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. Hope gave a surprised squeak but didn’t resist. “I saw it on a shelf in the bathroom when I got out of the shower, and I picked it up to ask you guys about it because it looked so much like your tattoos.” She gestured toward the front of her body, just below the collarbone. 

“Well, as much as I would love to stand here and celebrate our success,” Bobby said, glancing around suspiciously, “something tells me those weren’t the last demons we’ll see if we don’t get our asses back to the house where they can’t get in. We can finish this party there.” With a nod of finality, Bobby turned and headed back toward the house. 

Jody and Sam nodded in agreement and started after Bobby. Dean moved to follow them but stopped when he realized Hope wasn’t moving. “Are you coming or are you gonna take your chances out here with the demons?” 

Hope cracked a slight smile. “I think I’ll just wait here to die, thanks. It’ll be better than dying of embarrassment when we get back to the house.” Dean rolled his eyes, coming back to her and taking her hand in his. 

“It’s not that bad, Hope,” Dean said, steering them both toward the safety of the house. 

“Not that bad?” Hope stopped, pulling on his hand. “Dean, we had that whole argument _with an audience_! An audience I completely forgot was even there! Now they’re just going to look at me with pity, and I can’t take it. I can’t.” 

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Hope, this is not the first time Bobby and Sam have been hip deep in crazy, and I guarantee you before this is all said and done, it won’t be the last. It’s really not that big of a deal. So what if they saw us arguing about stuff that’s none of their business? The only person that will even think about saying anything will be Sam, because believe me, I’m gonna get a lecture from him about all that at some point. But Bobby and Jody, they won’t say anything—to me or to you. Now, can we please go back to the house?” 

Dean gave her hand a gentle tug, and she stumbled over her own feet and fell awkwardly into his arms. The feel of her in his arms made his pulse race and his breath catch when the realization hit him that he’d almost lost her today—again, and in more ways than one. No matter what, time marched on without fail, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it might just be running out for them. 


	17. Broken

**_Two Weeks Later_ **

"Again," Dean said, setting up a new line of targets on the junked cars nearby. Hope rolled her eyes, waiting for him to get out of the way. When he was safely behind her, Hope moved into the correct stance like Dean showed her, then aimed and squeezed the trigger, hitting all seven targets. He shook his head in amused astonishment as she handed the gun back to him. 

"Happy now?" Hope couldn't help the slight twinge of sarcasm in her voice. She'd indulged him five times already just today, and almost every day for the past two weeks, Dean wanted her to spar with him or shoot at targets. Hope was positive there were more productive things they could be doing than either of those things, like figuring out for sure what event was considered the next fixed point in her life. Or finding Castiel. He'd been missing since the night he told them about the timeline, and Hope was worried. Dean was concerned too, although he tried to pretend like it was no big deal, that Castiel disappeared on them for days on end all the time. While that might've been true once or twice, Hope could see the demon's words had rattled Dean. 

"I just want to know how you're doing it," Dean said, taking the gun from her and shaking his head slightly. "You said you've never touched a gun before, and yet you shoot as though you've done it your whole life. It's the same when you fight." 

_I said I've never touched a gun in this lifetime_. Hope shrugged, absently rubbing at the space under her collarbone where her new tattoo itched beneath her shirt, starting at Dean with a small smirk. "Girl's gotta have her secrets." 

Dean stared at her, his tongue caught between his teeth as his face broke into a wide smile. In typical Winchester fashion, Dean refused to talk about what happened before the demon attack. He wanted to, and when he was searching for Hope in the salvage yard, it seemed like telling her exactly how he felt was the most crucial thing in the world, but Hope hadn't gone out of her way to talk about it since that day, so he assumed it was probably better to leave it alone. 

_You're an idiot, man._

Maybe he was, but over the last couple of weeks, Hope and Dean formed a sort of fragile, unspoken truce, and he didn't want to be the one to ruin it. It would happen eventually; he knew, but right now, he just wanted to be near her and not be the source of her pain. Since the day the demons attacked, Dean knew without a doubt what Bobby told them was true. While he still wasn't a fan of being bound to a fate he was powerless to change, he supposed that in this instance, maybe it wasn't so bad that it wasn't _his_ choice that brought the two of them together. 

"Fine," Dean said, glancing away and pouting slightly. "Keep your secrets." 

Hope chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked by him, heading toward the house. "I might tell you someday, Dean—maybe." She turned toward him, squinting in the midday sun as she looked back at him and shrugged. "But, today is not that day. Come on, I'm starving." Hope flashed Dean a bright smile, and he returned it automatically as she turned away. Neither of them spoke as they walked the short distance back to the house, each lost in their own thoughts. Hope wondered for the millionth time if they would ever talk about what the hell was happening between them. Hope had always known she was in love with Dean, no matter how much she tried to pretend she wasn't, and she was good at pretending. Hope made that clear the night Heather stabbed her, something Dean still hadn't acknowledged or mentioned, and she didn't know whether to feel relief or fear about that. 

Hope wished innumerable times since then to not have said the words, but she had, and now they were all tiptoeing around the truth. Frankly, it was about to drive her completely bat-shit crazy, especially when she still didn't know for sure how he felt. She thought she saw glimpses of the truth at times, but then it would be gone in an instant, replaced by that cocky swagger and I don't give a shit attitude of his. It made her question everything—all the time, and she was neurotic enough, thankyouverymuch. 

She'd quickly realized over the last several days that Dean would never be the first to bring any of this up. Maybe it was fear that stopped him, perhaps it was he really just didn't care about her in that way, and that's why he didn't say anything. The problem with all of it was, Hope didn't know the answer, and she was terrified to ask the question. Too bad someone would have to if the two of them were ever going to move forward, together or separately. 

By the time Hope reached the top of the porch steps, she'd all but forgotten about being hungry. She went to the railing instead, jumping up onto it and locking her feet around the spindles saving herself the embarrassment of a tumble into the thorny flower bushes below. Her palms dug into the splintering wood as she hunched her shoulders, staring at the decking. 

"What's wrong?" Dean said with a mildly confused expression. His hand rested on the screen door handle, and he watched her with wide, curious eyes. "I thought you said you were hungry." Hope was quiet for a long time, and alarm bells clanged wildly in his head. She lifted her gaze to him, her whiskey brown eyes searching his face. For what, he couldn't tell, but right then, it didn't matter to him. Dean let go of the door handle, crossing the distance between them to mimic her position on the railing. 

Hope let out a small sigh, glancing sidelong at him. "I am, but it can wait. I think we should talk, about—well, everything." 

"What do you want me to say?" Dean murmured, looking in the opposite direction of Hope. "I don't have any answers, and I can't change the way we parted, so where does that leave us?" 

"Right here, Dean," Hope said with a sad smile. "It leaves us right here. The thing is, we can keep doing this little dance that we're doing if it makes you feel better. But sooner or later, something tells me it's going to bite us in the ass, and I, for one, am not a fan of that outcome. So we can either act like adults and talk about this shit, or we can not do that and pretend like we don't know what the hell is going on when it inevitably blows up in our faces. I just need to know what you _ want_ from me." 

"What I _want_ from you?" Dean echoed, shaking his head. "Do you think I see you as a means to an end?" 

"Don't you?" Hope murmured, staring in the opposite direction. "That's all I was supposed to be to you, right?" There was nothing in her voice but sadness, and Dean lifted his gaze to the ceiling, focusing on the leaf-shaped blades of the ceiling fan above them, trying not to get angry with himself or Sam for the things they'd done to hurt Hope. 

"Yes—at first," he sighed, running a hand across his face. "But the more time I spent with you, the more I realized it was so much more than that for me. It was something that scared the hell out of me then, and it scares the hell out of me now. I don't know how to be this person, Hope. My whole life, every single day of it, has been focused on one thing. I'm supposed to look after Sam and keep him safe. That was my one job, and I understood that. I could do that, as long as I stayed focused." 

Hope gazed at Dean, watching his obvious discomfort at the words that seemed to be tumbling out of him like a river bursting through a dam. "Hey," she said, putting her hand over his on the railing, "it's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push." 

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "It's fine. We need to do this, right?" He glanced at her, his mouth pressed into a thin line. 

Hope nodded, suddenly unsure that she'd done the right thing by starting this. What if he told her he didn't want her? Was she really prepared for that kind of rejection? She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. It would all work itself out, she told herself. _The only way out is through._

Dean cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to stare at the wall in front of him. "You were right." A short silence fell between them before he continued. "About all of it. I knew what I was doing would hurt you, and I took the easy way out. But you are not forgettable, Hope. You never were, and I feared that more than anything else. How was I supposed to do my job and keep Sammy safe if you were just as important to me as him?" 

"So you made a choice," Hope finished for him. "You chose Sam." She swallowed down the rock firmly lodged in the bottom of her throat and chanced a glance at him. In all honesty, Dean's answer didn't surprise her at all. Hope always knew how much Sam meant to him, and she supposed she should be honored that Dean deemed her as just as important as his younger brother. 

"Yeah, I did." Dean stood up, planting his boots firmly on the deck as he leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms. "And that's the thing, Hope. I've always chosen Sam, and I always will. Even when it sucks; even when it hurts people I care about; people I love. He's family; there's no other option but to choose him. Always." 

"Maybe there should be," Sam's voice came from behind them. Dean spun, his eyes wide as he stared at Sam, who stood in the middle of the gravel driveway. 

"How long have you been standing there?" Dean asked, casting a guilty glance at Hope and feeling like he'd just been busted for making out with the wrong girl in the janitor's closet. The corner of his mouth twitched at the oddly specific comparison, but it was a feeling he remembered well from his youth. 

"Long enough," Sam said, climbing the porch steps and nodding to Hope. "Hey, can I talk to Dean for a few minutes?" 

Hope nodded, lowering herself off the porch railing. "Sure, Sam. I think he said everything he needed to anyway." She pressed her lips into a tight smile as she fought to keep herself together. Hope yanked on the door handle, disappearing into the house. Sam watched her go, then shook his head and rounded on his idiot brother. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Dean?" Sam demanded, pinning Dean under a piercing gaze. 

"She wanted honesty, I was giving her what she wanted," Dean replied with a one-shoulder shrug. He tried to pretend what he'd said was no big deal, but it was. It really was. Dean had hurt her once again, just like he knew he would eventually, and _that_ was why he hadn't wanted to talk about any of this. He couldn't hurt anyone if he just kept his head down and his piehole shut. 

"No, you were making excuses." Sam ran a hand through his hair, then started pacing the length of the porch. "You're scared, and you're using me as a scapegoat, rather than face the truth head-on." 

"And what truth would that be, Sam?" Dean snapped, annoyance coloring his cheeks. He always hated how Sam could see right through his bullshit and wasn't afraid to call him out on it. Hope could see it too, but for some reason, she believed the worst when it came to how Dean felt about her, and Dean didn't think he would ever understand that. 

"The truth about how much you love her. The fact that you're not sure if you'd be able to choose between her or me if you're forced to, so you're doing the only thing you know how to do. You're throwing away everything you want, once again, to be a good little soldier and follow Dad's orders," Sam stopped pacing, clasping his hands over the top of his head before letting them drop against his thighs as he stared at Dean, then scoffed. 

"Dad's _orders_ are what kept us safe our whole lives, Sam!" Dean growled, glowering at Sam. "Say what you want, but you know it's true." 

"Dad's dead, Dean!" Sam yelled, shaking his head sadly as Dean recoiled like Sam had just slapped him. "Dad's dead," Sam repeated, his tone softening, "and I'm all grown up now. Your job is done, and I'm okay. Now it's your turn." 

"I can't, Sam," Dean said, closing his eyes and tilting his face toward the ceiling. "I don't know how to be anything other than what I am." 

"And 'what' is that? A grunt, a soldier, a killer?" Sam said. Dean said nothing, and Sam threw up his hands and started to walk away, then thought better of it. "What is it you're really afraid of, Dean? Is it that Hope might learn those things about you and walk away, or is it that she'll learn those things about you and love you anyway?" 

_Both_. Dean didn't answer, avoiding Sam's gaze. Sam moved toward the door, resting his hand on the metal handle as he turned back to add one last thought before disappearing into the house. "If you're not careful Dean, you'll lose Hope forever, mirror souls or not." 

Oh, Dean knew that all too well, but he wasn't lying when he told Sam he didn't know how to be anything else. Hope no doubt saw Dean as a good man, but he knew better, and he'd hate himself even more than he already did when he failed to live up to her expectations, so it was just better this way, for everyone. While Dean had no idea what Hope's expectations might be, it honestly didn't matter because no matter what, he believed in the darkest parts of his soul; he wasn't worthy of any of it. Even after all this time, he still didn't understand _why_ Cas yanked him out of hell, and he sure as hell didn't deserve the way Hope felt about him. He'd done nothing but hurt Hope the entire time he'd known her, and he doubted there would ever come a time when he didn't hurt or disappoint her—and that was what terrified him the most. 

~~~~~ 

Hope heard the screen door slam as she screwed the cap back onto the whiskey bottle, then picked up the glass, taking a long gulp. Hope knew her thinly veiled attempt at controlling her drinking was slipping away, but damn it all to hell if Dean Winchester didn't make it impossible for her not to drink. She hadn't heard all of what Sam said to Dean, but she'd heard enough. Now, what she really wanted to do was finish off the bottle in front of her and then, when she was good and drunk, give that idiot out on the porch a piece of her mind. 

"Hello, love," said an accented voice behind her. Hope screamed, spinning around and losing her grip on the whiskey glass as it crashed to the floor, shattering in a spray of glass and liquid. 

"Hope?" Sam called from down the hallway, his footsteps heavier on the floorboards as he raced toward her. He entered the library to see Hope gripping the desk in terror, staring at the King of Hell. "Crowley," Sam growled, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Did you come to finish what your minions started?" 

"Hello to you too, Moose," Crowley said, dabbing at the sleeve of his black overcoat. "Where's your squirrel?" 

Sam ignored the question, clenching his jaw and inhaling deeply through his nose. "What do you want, Crowley?" 

"Well, seeing as how word around downstairs is that this _lovely_ specimen right here is on Raphael's most wanted list, I thought I'd pop in and see what all the fuss is about. Care to share with the class, Samantha?" 

"You first," Sam replied, glaring at Crowley. "Where's Cas?" The screen door slammed down the hallway, and a few seconds later, Dean appeared. He glared at Crowley, then glanced at Hope with a worried look, and she shook her head in return. 

"Well, isn't that sweet?" Crowley quipped, shifting his gaze between Hope and Dean. "Kinda makes me want to gag a little. Anyway, to answer your question, how the hell should I know? He's your feathery pet, not mine. Rumor is he got zapped back upstairs." 

"What do you want, Crowley? I thought we agreed to never be in the same room again after locking up Lillith." Dean moved from the doorway, putting his body between Crowley and Hope. 

"Ah, yes. Well, you see, that unfortunate bit of business is why I've come to visit," Crowley said, glancing at Hope with narrowed eyes. "Turns out, some of Lucifer's more—dedicated followers figured out where we stashed Lillith, and now they're on a mission to open her cage and free him." 

"Lemme guess," Dean sneered, "you want our help in hunting them down." 

"Well, yeah," Crowley said, leering at Hope. "That, or we use your girlfriend here as bait to lure them out. It seems to be pretty effective so far. How many times has she been attacked by demons since you three escaped the clutches of Raphael's minions at the hospital?" 

"Yeah, well, in case you weren't paying attention," Hope said, finding her voice once more, "the ones who attacked me are dead." 

"Ah, that is true. And rumor is, you're quite the street fighter for a neurotic surgeon from Lawrence, Kansas. Let me guess, it's how you paid for medical school." Crowley paced the opening between the kitchen and library, tapping a finger on his lips. "No, no, that's not it. Your face is too pretty to have done that. So tell me, what's the story there?" 

"The story is bite me," Hope snarled, glaring at him, "with the obvious subtext of fuck off." Crowley's eyebrows shot up and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as he glanced between the brothers and Hope. 

"Well, alright then," Crowley said amiably. "Think about what I've suggested, boys. I'll be in touch." With that, Crowley disappeared, and Hope let out the breath she'd been holding since she'd turned and seen him standing behind her. 

Dean turned to Hope with a big lopsided grin on his face. "Hope, you know you just sassed the King of Hell, right?" 

"You're kidding," Hope replied, frowning in disbelief. "That pompous asshat is the King of Hell? No fuckin' way. Besides, he wasn't going to hurt me, he needs me to draw out his defectors, and something tells me you guys were the last place he wanted to go for help." 

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of us, Hope," Sam said, grinning at her. 

"A hunter?" Hope asked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she stared at Sam. 

"A Winchester," Sam replied, giving Dean a pointed look. He grinned at Hope, then turned and headed for the kitchen. "Come on, we better get this cleaned up before Bobby gets back." 

Between the three of them, the whiskey mess took less than five minutes to clean up. Hope helped herself to another glass, then sat down at the kitchen table and took a long sip, lost in thought. She turned the glass slowly on the tabletop with her fingers, considering what both Crowley and Sam had said. 

What kind of point was Sam trying to make with that comment? And was it a point to her—or Dean? Hope assumed it was Dean, especially after hearing bits of their conversation on the porch. She knew Sam was just trying to help and she loved him for it, but he should've known better than anyone how stubborn Dean was about things like this. It was even worse when Dean thought he was right, which was pretty much all the time. Hope knew without Sam's interference that Dean wasn't honest with her about how he felt, and even though she understood it, it still didn't make her want to wring his neck any less. 

That was just how it went with him, and whether she realized it or not, she'd accepted him just as he was from the very beginning. Hope smiled a little at the memory of Dean telling her he was no prince as he sat down next to her on the floor. Dean was always honest about who he was, even when he wasn't trying to be. Hope knew better than most that everyone, no matter who they were, was damaged or broken in their own way, some with deeper wounds and more prominent scars than others. When it came to Dean, absolutely none of that mattered to Hope because underneath all the cocky swagger and dickish behavior, he was a broken hearted man who was terrified of losing anyone else. 

As for Crowley's appearance, Hope had a feeling it was only a matter of time before the demons that kept coming after her actually succeeded in catching her off guard. And if they captured her, Sam and Dean would be left with an impossible choice; free Lillith and restart the apocalypse or refuse and let her die. Hope wasn't sure exactly what they'd choose, but she knew what her choice would be, and the answer turned her blood to ice. 

The screen door slammed, and the sound of Bobby's voice and Jody's laughter filled the house. Hope glanced up from her glass as the two of them entered the kitchen. Hope wondered idly why the hell those two weren't together. Obviously, they enjoyed each other's company, but then again, she guessed from an outsider's perspective, she could say the same about her and Dean. 

"Hope, you with us?" Jody asked, snapping her fingers in Hope's direction. Hope cleared her throat, then shook her head, chasing the thoughts back into the recesses of her mind. 

"Yeah," Hope mumbled, "sorry. What did you say?" 

"I asked if you wanted to help me finish unloading the truck. I've brought some more of Alex and Claire's old stuff that I thought you might like," Jody said, nodding toward the door. One corner of Hope's mouth lifted, and she swallowed down the last of the whiskey. She knew a barely disguised hint when she heard one. 

"Sure," Hope replied, setting the glass down on the table and standing up, "let's go. We'll leave the boys to their gossip." Dean narrowed his eyes in a 'bite me' glare as she passed, and just because she was slightly tipsy, Hope blew him a few air kisses before disappearing around the corner. 

Dean stared after her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he tried to process what the hell just happened. Sam struggled to stifle his laughter so hard, his face turned three shades darker and he struggled to catch his breath. Bobby shook his head, unloading the grocery bags. "Damn idjits," he muttered, the corners of his own mouth twitching beneath the thick bush of his beard. It wasn't every day someone rendered Dean Winchester speechless, after all. 

"So," Bobby said, clearing his throat to get the boys' attention, "anything interesting happen while I was out?" 

"What, you mean like the King of Hell is about to go fishing and he stopped by to borrow some bait?" Dean said, stacking canned goods on the cupboard shelves as Sam tossed them in his direction. 

"What the hell are you talking about? Crowley was here?" Bobby said, emptying the last of the bags and putting them away. 

"Yep," Sam replied, still trying not to laugh. "And the bait he was looking for—she told him to fuck off." 

"I'm sorry, she did what now?" Bobby said, cocking one eyebrow. "Seriously? Crowley wanted to use Hope as bait? What's he trying to catch, an archangel?" 

"Worse," Dean replied, closing the cabinet doors and turning to Bobby. "The demons that keep trying to attack Hope, they're Lucifer's most loyal followers. They're looking for Lillith's cage." 

"You know what'll happen if they manage to capture Hope, right?" Bobby said, his brow creased with worry. 

"We know, Bobby," Dean said with a sigh, patting Bobby on the shoulder as he headed to the library to pour his own glass of whiskey. 

"Well, what are you planning to do about it?" Bobby demanded, watching Dean walk away. 

"We don't know yet," Sam said thoughtfully. "But we'll figure it out, we always do." 


	18. Stubborn

“These are great, Jody. Thanks,” Hope said as she closed the flaps on the box. “Are you sure your girls won’t mind?”

“Nah,” Jody said, waving her hand in dismissal. “That stuff has been in the back of their closet for a couple years, they won’t even notice it’s gone.” 

Hope nodded, avoiding Jody’s gaze as she lifted the box out of the truck bed. “Thanks again.” 

“Hey,” Jody said, touching Hope’s arm gently as she turned away, “are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Hope replied with a shrug. “Or, at least I will be.” She hoped Jody would leave it alone with that answer, but somehow Hope knew it was wishful thinking. Hope didn’t want to talk about her relationship with Dean—if it could even be called that. Why should Hope care about any of it? Dean certainly didn’t, and after their conversation earlier, talking about any of it seemed beyond pointless now. He’d made his decision six years ago, and Hope highly doubted anything would change it, not even knowing what they both knew now. 

“Wanna try that again?” Jody said with a slight smile. “This time, with feeling.” 

Hope cracked an involuntary smile, shaking her head at Jody. “There’s nothing to say. I tried to talk to Dean about everything and he was honest about how he felt, and that’s the end of it. It’s fine, Jody. Really.” 

Jody sat on the tailgate of her truck, then patted the space beside her. “Come on, sit. You look like you need to talk.” 

Hope sighed, setting the box down and hopping up onto the tailgate next to Jody. She swung her feet back and forth as she gripped the edge and stared at the ground in front of her. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jody.” 

“Say whatever you want. I’m sure you have a lot to say after living with those three for the past couple of weeks,” Jody said, chuckling softly. 

“You have _no_ idea,” Hope said, cracking a smile. “I definitely miss living alone. I don’t miss being lonely though. It’s nice to have people around, even if said people are stubborn and have their heads shoved so far up their asses they’re using their rib cage as a helmet.” 

“Dean?” 

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Hope said innocently, shrugging and trying to stifle her grin. 

Jody laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds about right. So what did he do this time?” 

Hope’s smile faltered, and she cast her gaze down at the ground once more. “Nothing,” she said, pressing her lips into a thin line. “He didn’t _do_ anything, he just told me the truth. Or his version of it anyway.” 

“Which is?” 

“That no matter what it is that he actually wants in this life, he’s always going to choose Sam before anything else. Even when it hurts,” Hope mumbled, not looking up. “And I get it, I do. They’re all each other’s had for their whole lives. It makes sense, it’s just—” Hope clamped her lips together, not wanting to say anything else, and hoped Jody didn’t notice. 

She did. 

“It’s just what?” Jody asked, giving Hope a sideways glance, then closed her eyes and muttered something inaudible under her breath. 

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” Hope replied, shaking her head and lifting her gaze, staring out over the driveway into nothing. 

“If this mirror souls thing is true, are you wondering if there was or ever will be a lifetime where he doesn’t choose Sam?” Jody said, glancing at Hope again, her curiosity piqued. 

“I know there is,” Hope murmured automatically, only realizing what she said after the words left her mouth. Color flooded her face as she fumbled for the words to backtrack and try to cover. 

“Wait—what?” Jody’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she stared at Hope. “How do you know that?” 

“I, uh, I just—do?” Hope lied. She squinted one eye as she looked and Jody, who gave her a soft ‘bullshit’ glare. _Dammit_. Hope always had been an awful liar; it was a running joke in her family when she was a child. She knew this, and yet she still tried to lie occasionally, and she wondered again if she’d ever learn to just not do that. “Okay. Okay,” she relented, “but you can’t tell them. They’ll just think I’m crazy, or worse.” 

Jody nodded, and Hope took a deep breath to steady her nerves before trying to explain herself. “So, uh, when I was in the coma, I saw a bunch of—memories, I guess?” Hope started, twisting her fingers in her lap as she tried to find the right words. “There were these scenes that would play out and in them, Dean and I were together and we had kids. Most of them are fuzzy now, and the one I do remember is horrible, and I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“And you think these—snapshots, are actual memories?” Jody asked, one eyebrow lifted in question. “They’re not just, I dunno, dreams?” 

“I thought they were dreams at first,” Hope replied, blowing out a breath as she ran her hands down her face. “But then I learned everything else, and now I really do think they’re memories. So to answer your question, I know there is at least one lifetime where he doesn’t choose Sam.” 

“He’s using Sam as an excuse, you know that right?” 

Hope nodded, glancing toward the house. “I know, and Sam even called him out on it. But what am I supposed to do, Jody? I can’t force him to tell me the truth, and you know how stubborn he is, especially when he thinks he’s doing the right thing.” 

Jody sighed, shaking her head as she slid off the tailgate. “Believe me, I know. I wish I had some brilliant advice for you, but I don’t. The only person that might get through to Dean _is_ Sam, or maybe Bobby. Although that might require Bobby to smack him upside the head a few times.” 

“I might just buy tickets to that show.” Hope chuckled at the mental image, then jumped down from the tailgate. She picked up the box and headed for the house, still chuckling. 

Hope’s smile faded when she entered the house and saw Dean waiting for her in the hallway. She ignored him, saying nothing as she passed, headed for the guest room. Dean watched her pass, then saw her hesitate for a moment before entering the room and closed the door behind her. 

What the hell was wrong with him? His intention was to meet her in the hallway as she came in to continue their conversation, but the words died on his lips when he saw her. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she deserved to hear them; no, she deserved much more than whatever stupid thing he might say. Hope Bennett deserved the best, and he wasn’t anywhere near the best. For a moment, he thought about knocking on the door and asking her to listen to what he had to say. But when he thought about it some more, what was he really going to say that hadn’t been said already? 

As he turned to go back to the library and pour himself another drink, the screen door slammed and Jody walked in, giving him a motherly ‘what the hell are you doing’ glare. Dean withered slightly, glancing away from Jody’s gaze and running a hand down his face. 

“She told you, didn’t she?” Dean asked, shaking his head. Great, this was all he needed. 

“Not exactly, but I got the gist of it. I know it’s none of my business, but you’re making a mistake, Dean, and I think you know it.” Jody crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at him with a sad smile. “Most people only dream about finding the one person that was made specifically for them. You’ve found yours, and you’re going to throw it away because you’re scared. That doesn’t seem like the best course of action, but hey, you do you. Just don’t blame _Sam_ when it inevitably blows up in your face.” 

“Why would I—” Dean started, but Jody held up a hand to stop him. 

“You know full well why,” Jody replied, hardening her gaze. “You’ll blame Sam, and he’ll take it like he always does because that’s what you need from him. So how about this—when she decides she’s done waiting for you, take a good _long_ look in the mirror to see who you should really blame.” 

Dean swallowed hard, trying and failing to come up with anything to say. There was so much truth to Jody’s words, Dean couldn’t even attempt to deny them. But it was too late now, wasn’t it? He’d already opened his mouth and shoved his foot so far down his throat he was choking on it, and he was almost certain that Hope had run out of patience for his stupidity. 

“Jody, I—” Dean said, his shoulders slumping like someone had deflated him, “I don’t know what to do. I’m just going to hurt her no matter what I do, but I know how to deal with her being angry with me. I don’t know how to deal with—whatever she is right now.” 

“I’m really starting to understand why Bobby calls you ‘idjit,’ Jody muttered, shaking her head. Dean frowned in confusion, and Jody waved him off. “She’s not anything right now. You’ve said what you needed to say, and Hope is respecting that, although she’s more than a little hurt you don’t trust her enough to tell her the whole truth.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean said through clenched teeth. “I told her the truth, so if she’s saying I didn’t—” 

Jody held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, first of all, this will get resolved much faster if you just go talk to _her_. Second, that’s not what she said at all. She acknowledged you told her the truth. Or rather, an edited version of it. You left out the part about, oh I don’t know—being hopelessly in love with her.” 

Dean shook his head, setting his mouth into a grim line and turning away. Jody threw up her hands in frustration, sighing as she rolled her eyes. “You know what, Dean? That stubborn streak of yours is going to cost you everything one day. She isn’t going to wait forever for you to decide you _might_ want to be with her, and life is too short to be anything other than happy. Do you understand me?” 

“I understand you,” Dean murmured, not looking at Jody, “but my life is fine. And I _am_ happy, with or without Hope. I survived this long without her, and she did just fine without me. It’s not the huge deal everyone is making it out to be, and I wish you guys would just drop it!” 

Jody chewed her lip in frustration as she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, counting to five in her head. “My God, you are full of shit,” Jody snapped, opening her eyes and glaring at Dean, who withered under her fierce gaze. “Go ahead and keep lying to yourself, Dean. Keep lying to Hope—see where that gets you.” 

“If it gets me out of this damn conversation, then I’m good,” Dean replied, stomping down the hallway and out the door. 

“Jackass,” Jody muttered as the screen door slammed behind Dean. Bobby poked his head out of the library, frowning. 

“Everything alright?” Bobby asked, nodding toward the door. “What’s with him?” 

“Everything’s fine, Bobby,” Jody replied with a small smile. “I was just enlightening Dean to some hard truths, and he didn’t take it very well.” 

“Well,” Bobby shrugged and shook his head, “I coulda told you that was gonna happen. Damn idjit is as stubborn as they come. He’ll come around though...eventually.” 

“What if it’s too late when he finally does? 

“Well, I suppose it’ll be yet another life lesson that boy’s had to learn the hard way,” Bobby replied with a deep sigh. “Just like pretty much every other lesson he’s learned. He just can’t seem to learn from anyone else’s mistakes.” 

“Apparently, he also can’t learn from his own,” Jody muttered, shaking her head as she headed toward the kitchen to see if Sam needed any help with anything. 

~~~~~ 

Hope ignored the angry, hushed voices on the other side of the door and focused on folding and organizing the box of clothes she brought in. She knew Jody wouldn’t be able to resist saying something to Dean, although Hope wished everyone would just leave whatever was between her and Dean to the two of them. Forcing either of them to accept the truth of the matter would only lead to disaster. As far as Hope was concerned, they’d either figure out their crap or they wouldn’t, but they had to do it on their own time. 

Hope sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling her chin in her hands as she leaned forward. She wondered idly if the others felt the invisible timer counting down to some unknown doomsday, and that was why they were trying to be helpful and give Hope and Dean the good swift kick in the ass she knew they both needed and probably deserved. She sighed, running a hand down her face, then startled when the screen door slammed against the frame. 

_Just Dean doing what Dean does best—leaving._ Hope shook her head, then stood up to finish organizing her clothes. 

“Hello, love,” Crowley said from the corner of the room. Hope stifled a shriek as she spun around toward the sound, her hand flying to the waistband of her jeans. Of course, once again, a demon was three feet away and she was unarmed. “Fuck my life,” Hope muttered under her breath, then cocked her head to one side and gave Crowley a saccharine smile. “What the hell do you want?” 

“I thought I’d pop by for a chat. See if you’d convinced your flannel-clad bodyguards out there to allow you to be bait for Lucifer’s goons,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Christ, it’s only been a few hours! It wasn’t really on the top of the to-do list. Now, if you don’t mind, I have more important things to do than sit here and yak with you all night.” Hope turned away from him, realizing a moment too late that turning her back on the King of Hell wasn’t the best move. 

“Fine,” Crowley growled in Hope’s ear as he grabbed her. Hope opened her mouth to scream, but with a snap of his fingers, he’d silenced her. “I’ve tried to play nice, but you’ve forced my hand. You don’t have to be  _ willing  _ to serve as bait, my dear.” Before Hope had time to blink, Bobby’s guest room disappeared, and now she was in a throne room of some kind. 

“Where the _Hell_ am I, Crowley?” Hope sneered. “Take me back. Now.” 

“You’re in Hell, love, and you’re in my domain now, so you better watch your tongue if you fancy keeping it,” Crowley said, taking a seat on his throne. “I will take you back, just as soon as your boyfriends agree to do as I tell them. I’ll even make sure you stay in one piece. Now sit down, shut up, and get comfortable, because—as I’m sure you know, Sam and Dean Winchester are stubborn to the point of stupid, so this might take a while.” 

Hope let out a growl of frustration, then paced the length of the throne room. _Dean is going to lose his damn mind!_ Her phone vibrated a notification in her back pocket, giving her an idea. “Hey!” she snapped, and Crowley gave her a bored look, one finger pressing into his temple as he leaned back on the throne. “I need to use the bathroom.” After a brief silence, she added, “You do have one of those here, right?” 

“It’s not really necessary, love. Looks like your boyfriends will just have to hurry,” Crowley said, feigning disinterest as he watched her. “Like I said, get comfortable.” 

“Bite me,” Hope sneered, giving him a fierce glare before turning on her heel and stomping to the opposite corner of the large space. She took a seat on one of the stone benches, crossing her arms over her chest and sulking like a child. What the hell was she going to do now? 

~~~~~ 

Dean paced around Bobby’s garage, curling and uncurling his fingers as he tried to calm down. He wanted to throw things, break shit, and scream until his vocal cords were raw, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly _why_ he wanted to do any of those things. He was frustrated at Jody, no doubt, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really, anyway. If nothing else, he had to consider the possibility she was right. Or at least the possibility that what he’d convinced himself was the right thing to do might—at the very least, not be the _best_ right thing to do. 

Dean told himself that he was protecting both of them by holding Hope at arm’s length because as long as he did, the bad guys wouldn’t see her as a bargaining chip, a chink in his armor. Sam was his only weakness as far as anyone else was concerned, but Sam could take care of himself. Hope, not so much. 

_That’s bullshit and you know it. You’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Hope._

Fine, it was bullshit, but the truth was he didn’t _want_ to be seen as vulnerable when it came to Hope. It was yet another way he could be manipulated into being forced to make an impossible choice. If Lucifer’s minions succeeded in getting their hands on Hope, he’d personally yank Lucifer out of his cage if it meant saving Hope’s life. Dean knew that without a doubt, and he supposed Sam did too, and Dean couldn’t understand why Sam was giving him such a hard time. Dean had to appear invulnerable to Hope; otherwise she’d become more of a target than she already was. Did Sam really not see that? 

Dean hadn’t lied to Hope, but she was right in assuming he hadn’t told her the whole truth. He’d known he was throwing everything he wanted away before Sam ever pointed it out. Hope was more than he could ever hope to find in another person, and she was, quite literally, the other half of his soul. So why was he fighting this so hard? 

_You love her, don’t you?_ Yes. A million times, yes. _Then what’s the damn problem_? What’s the damn problem, indeed. 

“Dean?! Are you out here?” Sam’s voice cut through Dean’s jumbled thoughts, and he stuck his head out of the open garage door, frowning at the urgency in Sam’s tone. 

“In here,” Dean called back, disappearing back into the garage as Sam ran toward him. “What’s going on Sam?” Dean asked as Sam leaned against the doorway, taking deep breaths. 

“It’s Hope,” Sam said between breaths. “She’s gone.” 

“Gone? Gone where?” Dean’s mouth went dry as fear rippled through his body, turning his insides to ice water. 

“I have a pretty good idea,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The entire guest room reeked of sulfur.” 

“Crowley,” Dean gritted through clenched teeth, stomping past Sam toward the house. “That son of a bitch thinks he can force us to help him.” 

“Uh, he kinda can, Dean,” Sam pointed out, falling into step next to his brother. “If Hope dies, we all do, and you know as well as I do that he will kill her if we don’t do what he wants. God forbid he finds out that her death will bring on the end of the world.” 

“I know, Sam!” Dean yelled, stopping short and covering his mouth with one hand. He sighed, shaking his head as he turned away from Sam. “Sorry, I—” 

“I get it, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “It’s fine. So what are we going to do?” 

“First, we’re going to summon the King of Hell,” Dean said with a curt nod, then stalked toward the house. 

“Sure, because nothing could go wrong with that plan,” Sam muttered, hurrying to catch up with Dean. 

Dean didn’t speak as he walked, his footsteps falling heavy on the gravel beneath his feet. He half-expected Sam to give him a lecture, or at least continue the conversation from earlier, but he remained quiet, seemingly as lost in thought as Dean. Sam had no idea how grateful Dean was for the silence. Or maybe he did know, but it didn’t matter, not really. 

Bobby looked up as Sam and Dean entered the library. Dean said nothing as he moved around the room, gathering items for the demon summoning spell. Bobby raised an eyebrow at Sam in question, and Sam shook his head with a tight smile. 

“What are you gonna do, Dean?” Sam asked quietly, not wanting to risk the wrath of Dean’s fury. Dean stopped, glaring at Sam as he dumped ingredients into the bowl in front of him. “When Crowley shows up, what are you going to do? We don’t know where he’s stashed Hope. C’mon, man, we gotta be smart about this.” 

“If you have any other bright ideas Sam I’m all ears,” Dean snapped, resuming his work. “Otherwise, this is the best bad idea I’ve got.” Not taking his eyes off Sam, Dean struck a match and held it over the bowl as it burned. Sam sighed, pursing his lips as he shook his head in resignation. “Alright then,” Dean said, tilting his head to one side as he dropped the match into the bowl. 

A small explosion and a puff of smoke erupted from the bowl as Dean muttered the incantation in Latin, ending it with, “Crowley, show yourself you son of a bitch!” 

“It’s son of a witch, actually,” Crowley said as everyone turned to stare at him. “Hello boys. Missing something?” 

“Where is she, you bastard!” Dean roared and charged Crowley, blinded by his own fear and rage. Every other thought left Dean’s mind except Hope, and what he would do to Crowley if the son of a bitch hurt her. 

“Moose,” Crowley grunted as Dean shoved him up against the wall, pinning him with a forearm. “Call off your attack dog, or I’ll see to it his precious Hope gets returned to him in pieces.” 

“Dean,” Sam said, grabbing Dean by his elbow. “Dean, let him go.” Dean growled, releasing Crowley and moving to the desk to grab the whiskey bottle. He poured a glass, then took a long drink, glaring daggers at Crowley. 

“As entertaining as it’s been to watch this display of assholery,” Bobby said, his gaze darting between Dean and Crowley. “What the hell are you planning to do with Hope?” 

“Nothing much,” Crowley said with a shrug. “She’ll be fine, as long as everyone does what they’re supposed to. Otherwise, I’ll just kill her and be done with it.” 

Bobby and Sam exchanged a worried glance, and Crowley tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What—what was that?” He demanded, gesturing between Bobby and Sam. 

“It wasn’t anything,” Dean snapped, glaring at Sam. Crowley studied Sam’s face, his frown and furrowed brow telling Crowley almost everything he needed to know. Sam sighed, opening his mouth to speak, but Dean interrupted him. 

“Don’t do it, Sam. Don’t you tell him a damn thing.” Dean practically bellowed the words, but Sam just gave him a tepid smile and turned to Crowley. 

“If you like existing, I wouldn’t suggest killing Hope,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s irate groans as he buried his fingers in his own hair and curled his hands into fists. 

“Dammit, Sam!” 

“I know, I know. You two yutzes will kill me if I hurt her? Yadda, yadda. Blah blah blah,” Crowley said, pressing his fingers together in a talking motion with his hand. “That sound about right to you, Moose?” 

“No, you asshat,” Sam retorted, glaring at Crowley. “If Hope dies, we all do. You included.” 


	19. Rise

Several tense moments of silence passed between them as Crowley studied Sam's face, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Care to repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of your stupidity."

Sam pursed his lips and regarded Crowley with a narrowed gaze, ignoring the bait. "You heard me, Crowley." 

Dean drained the last of the whiskey from his glass, slamming the glass down on the table as he glared daggers at Sam. Crowley glanced sideways at Dean, paling slightly at the murderous gleam in Dean's eyes. "Look, no harm will come to her—if you two help me. I swear once we've drawn out Lucifer's followers I will return Hope in the same condition I found her. You have my word." 

"Your word?" Dean growled and took a step toward Crowley, who lifted his chin in defiance. "And we're just supposed to trust you on that?" 

"You don't have a choice, if you ever want to see the love of your life again," Crowley said in an even tone that did not betray his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was for the Winchesters to see how much Sam's words had rattled him. After what Sam said, Crowley wasn't sure he'd done the right thing by kidnapping Hope to force the Winchesters to help him with his vendetta, not that he'd ever admit such a thing out loud—to anyone. 

"She's not—" Dean started. He growled softly as he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not like that." 

"You really expect me to believe that?" Crowley replied with a knowing smirk. He stared at Dean for a few moments, then added, "You're in so much denial, you're practically drowning in it. How Sam puts up with you is beyond me." After a glance at Sam, he pressed on. "So do we have a deal?" 

"Do we really have a choice?" Sam asked quietly. Bobby stared at Sam, his mouth hanging slightly open as he shook his head. 

"You can't be serious, Sam! You do realize we're risking the life of every single person on this planet by teaming up with him?" Bobby sank into the desk chair, rubbing a hand down his face. 

"What else are we supposed to do, Bobby?" Dean snapped, turning toward him. "Are you saying we just leave Hope in Crowley's hands to die? I can't do that to her!" Dean shook his head emphatically, then he lowered his voice and added, "I _won't_ leave her again." 

"Not like that my arse," Crowley muttered under his breath as Bobby sighed, both in frustration and resignation. Dean turned toward Crowley, his arms spread wide. 

"So what's the plan?"

"You allow Hope to be captured by Lucifer's minions, then when they try to ransom her life, you kill them all. Everyone wins," Crowley said, shrugging one shoulder. "Simple." 

"Yeah," Sam said, shaking his head and huffing in disbelief. "It's _too_ simple. There is only an infinite number of ways that could go wrong, Crowley. The main one being we fail and release Lilith, and in turn, Lucifer. Are you willing to take that chance? Because I'm not sure I am." 

"Well, I'm not willing to let Hope die and bring on the end of everything, Sam!" Dean said, shaking his head. 

"So you'd rather risk bringing on the Apocalypse?" Sam frowned, tilting his head. "How, _exactly,_ is that better than the end of everything?" 

Dean stared at Sam in disbelief. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah. Seriously," Sam retorted, his face pinching into a scowl. "Have you forgotten _everything,_ Dean?" 

"Of course not!" Dean bellowed. After a few moments, his scowl softened and he turned away, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "Dammit! This is what I was trying to avoid! I can't do this! I can't choose between you and Hope. Please don't make me, Sam." 

Dean shook his head, trying to clear away the fear clouding his mind. No matter what he did next, there was no good outcome. If they agreed to Crowley's demands, the angels got the Apocalypse they wanted. If they didn't, well...what difference would it make when there was nothing left? Or worse, what if Raphael got his hands on Hope before he and Sam found her? Dean would never forgive himself if Hope had to endure whatever torture Raphael had planned for her alone. He cursed himself for ignoring Hope's insistence they focus on figuring out what event Cas was talking about. If only he'd come back… 

"It's okay, Dean. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out," Sam said, the tone of resignation evident in his voice. 

"But first," Sam turned to Crowley, "you're going to take us to Hope, and that is not a request. She's alone, unarmed, and stuck with whatever incompetent lower-level demon you tasked with guarding her. Knowing what you know now, do you really want to take the chance that whoever's guarding her isn't plotting against you?" For a moment, Crowley appeared to be considering Sam's question. Without a word, Crowley held up his hand, ready to snap his fingers. 

"Wait," Dean said, holding up one finger as he ran from the room. He returned moments later with a duffle bag full of weapons and ammo, then nodded to Crowley. "Now we can go." 

Crowley rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers. In a blink, the three of them stood in Crowley's throne room. The demons guarding the area blinked in question, taking involuntary steps back when they recognized who Crowley had with him. Crowley glowered at all of them, then turned to Sam and Dean. "Follow me, and stay close. Wouldn't want you to 'accidently' go missing down here." 

"Whatever," Dean snapped, shifting the duffle bag's weight on his shoulder, "just take us to her and stop playing games, you dick." 

"Fine. Let's go." Crowley turned on his heel, striding through the double doors and turning left. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, each giving a small shrug before following behind. They walked through an endless maze of corridors, all looking identical to the one before it until Sam was sure they wouldn't be able to escape should the need arise. He swallowed hard, glancing sideways at Dean, who seemed determined but relaxed, as though everything about this was normal. 

Sam knew his brother well enough to know that calm demeanor disguised the utter terror that clawed at Dean, and Sam wondered if this would be enough to get Dean to admit his feelings for Hope. Probably not, Sam mused silently. But, if something like this wasn't enough to get Dean to see the truth, nothing would. 

As their footsteps echoed along the stone walls of the corridor, Sam wondered to himself what would happen if Dean and Hope actually stopped acting like stubborn idiots and acted on whatever was between them. Sam didn't understand what it was that drew them together, not really. But he could plainly see the two of them seemed to each act as a balm to the other, soothing and healing the other's pain just by being nearby, and Sam supposed he didn't need to _understand_ the why or how. The two of them were made for each other, it was that simple—and that complicated. Sam could only hope he might get lucky enough to have that with someone—someday. 

Dean glanced sidelong at Sam, nudging him with an elbow. "Look alive, will ya?" he muttered, shaking his head. Sam glanced back at Dean and gave a tight smile in response, but said nothing. Crowley stopped ahead of them, unlocking a set of wrought iron doors and shoving them open, the deafening screech of metal on metal setting Sam's teeth on edge. 

"This way, boys," Crowley said, striding along the corridor between the rows of cells, then turning a corner out of sight. He stood facing Sam and Dean as they rounded the corner, and Crowley couldn't keep the guilty look off his face. 

"What is it?" Dean growled, his eyes narrowing. "Where is she?" 

'She's—" Crowley paused, sighing as he rolled his eyes toward the stone ceiling above them and stepped aside. Dean pushed past him into the cell, his gaze sweeping the space for Hope. "Not here." 

Panic and fury coursed through Dean's body like an electrical current as he turned toward Crowley, regarding him with a look that made molten lava seem like a glacier in comparison. "Where is she?" Dean said through gritted teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he took a menacing step toward Crowley. "What did you do to her?" 

Crowley's eyes went wide as he pointed to himself. "Me? _I_ didn't do anything to her. She was perfectly fine when I left her. Maybe if you two hadn't insisted on being so bloody—" he paused, sputtering, "well, _you_ , she'd still be here. As it is, it looks like you have no choice but to help me. Unless, of course, you want to watch the world burn because you let her die." 

"If anything whatsoever happens to her, Crowley, I will rip your lungs out through your nose and feed them to your fucking hellhounds. We clear?" Crowley blanched at the ferocity of Dean's tone, then nodded once. 

"Guess we better find her then," Crowley said, clearing his throat. "I'll take care of this." He raised his hand, getting ready to snap and send them back to Bobby's house, but Dean grabbed his wrist. 

"I don't think so," Dean growled, taking another step forward and closing the distance between them. "We're staying right here until you find out who did this and bring them to me. I will deal with them myself." 

Several moments of silence fell in the distance between Crowley and Dean before either of them spoke. "Fine," Crowley relented. "Follow me." 

Sam glanced sidelong at Dean, studying his face in profile as the group retraced their steps through the winding maze of corridors back to the throne room. There was no trace of the calm expression on Dean's face now, only righteous fury laced with fear. Sam shifted his gaze straight ahead, allowing himself to have his own momentary internal freakout then shoving it down to deal with the problem at hand. 

When they entered the throne room, Crowley barked orders in Enochian to a nearby demon who was furiously scribbling notes in a thick leather-bound journal. The monster gave him a blank, wide-eyed stare before nodding and racing from the room. Crowley took a seat on the throne, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his head up with two fingers as Sam and Dean stood like sentry guards on either side of him. 

A few minutes passed before the throne room doors burst open and two demons entered, gripping a struggling third between them. "Your Highness," said the first, "this is the human's cell guard you demanded be brought before you." 

Crowley nodded, gazing instead at the struggling demon who had been forced to his knees before the throne. "Tell me why you allowed the human girl to be taken from her cell. I tasked you with guarding her, and yet, when I returned she was nowhere to be found. What have you done with her?" 

The demon stopped struggling, staring incredulously at Crowley. "Lucifer's followers showed up, and I ain't about to die for some human bitch," the demon spat, lifting his chin defiantly as Sam and Dean regarded him with icy stares. Dean took a step forward, reaching for the blade in his waistband, but Crowley held up his hand as the demon continued speaking. "They said to give your _pets_ a message. Said to tell you they took her to where the end began. Meet them there by midnight tomorrow, or they start ripping her apart, piece by piece. So, I did what I was told. I didn't hurt her and I delivered the message. Where's my reward?" 

"Right here," Crowley said, snapping his fingers. The demon exploded into a pile of smoking ash on the floor between the others, and Crowley stared at the remains with feigned boredom. "Give Lucifer my regards." 

"Dammit!" Dean bellowed, the sound of his voice echoing off the stone walls. Sam glared at him, pursing his lips in annoyance. "What the hell does that even mean? _Where the end began?_ " 

Crowley shrugged, nonplussed. "No idea. You two are supposed to be the geniuses, remember?" 

Dean rounded on Crowley, his arms spread wide. "You were the one who wanted to use Hope as bait to draw them out! You mean to tell me that you were going to let her get taken and you didn't even know where to? What the actual fuck, Crowley? Seriously?" 

"I figured you two dimwits would know exactly where Lucifer's lap dogs would take her," Crowley said, gesturing in question. "I gave you the cage and the spell to lock up Lillith, but if you remember correctly, I wasn't _actually there_ when you did it." 

"Oh, damn," Sam breathed, shaking his head as he paced the floor in front of the throne. "The convent. St. Mary's, I think? That's where they took Hope, because that's where we locked up Lilith, and that's where she has to die to free Lucifer." 

Dean glanced between Sam and Crowley, then nodded once. "I guess we're going to St. Mary's then." 

~~~~~ 

Hope opened her eyes as her head lolled to one side against her arm. Her wrists were bound in shackles chained so high above her head, her toes barely scraped the stone beneath her feet. At least they'd left her clothes on. Her mouth watered; her tongue worked automatically to push the gag out of her mouth, but it was bound too tightly around her head. 

Hope cracked one eyelid and peeked around the room, trying to make sense of all the noise inside her head. Her right cheek throbbed something fierce, and she flinched, remembering the enormous black-eyed demon who'd knocked her out cold. Where the hell had they taken her, anyway? And where the hell had Crowley gone, the slimy bastard? Hope swore mentally she'd make him pay for this if she ever got the chance. 

Hope watched the demons guarding her under cover of her eyelashes, counting them as they moved about the room. There were at least a dozen she could see, and probably more she couldn't, and she wondered to herself if this would be how and where she met her end. The thought crossed her mind that Dean might refuse Crowley, and where did that leave her? Dean told her in so many words only hours—or was it days, she honestly couldn't tell anymore—that he'd always choose Sam. But surely saving Hope would be considered choosing Sam by proxy, right? 

A door swung open somewhere on the floor above, banging so hard against the wall it sent bits of stone and dust falling from the ceiling above Hope, covering her in a layer of gray filth. The demons guarding her snapped to attention, moving warily toward the noise. Sounds of fighting and dying demons floated down the stairwell, and hope swelled in her chest. They _had_ come for her! 

Hope could feel the enormous demon behind her and she tensed involuntarily but didn't open her eyes. He chuckled, running a blade down the length of her side as Hope forced herself to stay still. The steel was almost frigid against the exposed skin of her stomach, and she clenched her jaw muscles to stop herself from crying out to whoever was upstairs. The demon started to laugh, but a deep voice interrupted. 

"Get away from her, or I'll rip your spinal cord out through your asshole, bitch." 

Hope's eyes snapped open, and she'd never been so happy to see Dean's face in any life as she was right then. She exhaled in relief, her mouth curving into an involuntary smile. He glanced at her, his green eyes glinting with something between relief and bloodlust, and in that moment, Hope couldn't imagine a single thing on the planet more beautiful than those eyes and that smile. 

"Heya, sweetheart," Dean said, ignoring the demon as he raised an eyebrow at Hope and grinned mischievously. "Miss me?" 

Hope made a face and cocked one eyebrow at him, the gag in her mouth muffling her response. Dean's grin widened, then fell as a half-dozen demons entered the room, dragging a barely conscious Sam. Several more flooded in around them, blocking all the exits. _Well, shit. This just went from bad to worse_. 

"Now that we're all here," the demon next to her shouted, pointing at Dean, "open Lilith's cage, now, or I start slicing up your girlfriend." The demon pressed the blade into the underside of Hope's ribcage, dragging it down the length of her stomach as a crimson line appeared behind it. Hope hissed as the knife moved, gritting her teeth. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long, and it felt like a thousand angry ants had taken up residency just below her skin. 

"No," Dean said flatly. "I won't open that cage. Lucifer can rot for another millenia for all I care." He still held the demon-blade in his hand, his fingers curling and uncurling reflexively around the handle. There were too many demons to take on alone, and without Sam's help, Dean couldn't think of a single way the three of them walked away from this alive. 

"See, the thing about that is," the demon sighed, his face pinching in arrogance, "we don't actually need you _alive_ to open the cage. All we need is your blood, so—" he spread his hands wide and gestured around the room. "My friends here are going to have some fun, and you're all going to die. Then, when that's over, Lucifer will rise—and humanity will burn." 

"Never gonna happen," Dean said, bristling for a fight. He knew he would lose, but he wasn't going down without getting in a few solid punches first. 

The demon laughed again, nodding to the one restraining Sam, then buried his blade all the way to the hilt in the soft flesh of Hope's stomach, as the other demon did the same to Sam. White-hot pain shot through Hope's body as the knife withdrew and starbursts of light exploded behind her eyes. Blood poured from her stomach, she screeched like a banshee, the sound muffled by the gag as she frantically moved to get free. A half-second later, Sam let out a guttural sound, falling forward as he lost consciousness. 

Dean watched in horror, helpless against the horde of demons attacking the two people he loved most in the world. Logically, he knew he couldn't save both Hope and Sam, but his heart refused to choose between them, and Dean accepted the only choice he had left. If he couldn't save them, then he'd die with them—but not before taking out as many black-eyed bastards as he could. 

~~~~~ 

Atropos stared at the scene before her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. These ridiculous humans were determined to bring on the end of the world in one form or another, and because the human girl had splintered the timeline, Atropos couldn't see what was to come, no matter how hard she tried. This revelation irked her to no end, and she wished nothing more than to take her shears and snip the thread of Hope Bennett's life. 

With Hope out of the way, the timeline would reset, and hopefully return to what Atropos and her sisters had always intended—Sam Winchester dies, followed by Dean, with Hope thrown in for good measure. With the last of the Winchester bloodline eradicated, the annoying gnats God referred to as his "angels" would stop fighting among themselves to destroy the humans. Atropos shook her head in annoyance, she'd warned Ananke eons ago what giving in to that petty, selfish brat of a God would lead to, but she'd never imagined anything like this. 

With the simple decision to save Sam Winchester, Hope had changed the course of the universe irrevocably, and not even the Fates themselves could predict what would happen now. Atropos' curiosity warred with her sense of order, just as it had since that angel Castiel saved Hope, and part of her wanted to see how this played out. After all, for the first time in the universe's history, she _didn't_ know how or where a story would end, and she found the idea both intriguing and horrifying. 

"Keeping them frozen like this won't give you the answers you seek, sister," Lachesis muttered, moving in between the still forms of the swarming demons, letting her fingers trail along their sleeves. She wiggled her brows appreciatively at Sam, brushing the hair out of his face. 

"I like this one," Lachesis glanced up at her sister, smirking slightly. "I can see why Hope saved him." 

"You're worse than Clotho," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Why are you here?" 

Lachesis shrugged, sighing as she glanced around. "What can I say? It's free entertainment, and I'm bored. Is it still bothering you the girl didn't follow your rules?" 

Atropos huffed, avoiding her sister's gaze. "I just don't understand _why_ she would do it. It makes no sense. She hated the Winchesters, and now…" Atropos’ voice trailed off as she studied Hope's face as though trying to discern the answer in her contorted features. “She’s willing to die for them.”

Lachesis shrugged, bored with the conversation. "What difference does it make, really? If it bothers you so much, end her life and restart the timeline." 

Atropos shook her head, setting her mouth in a grim line. "No, this needs to run its course. I can't interfere." 

"Then let it run its course," Lachesis said, cocking her head to one side as she snapped her fingers. 

~~~~~ 

Hope screamed as the demon stabbed her again, her head falling back as she took shallow breaths against the pain, feeling the warm rush of blood down her skin. She forced herself to lift her head, searching for Dean as her vision dimmed and blurred at the edges. Four demons surrounded him as his blade stabbed and sliced through the air with a precision few people ever reached. 

Hope tried to cry out through the gag as a fifth demon snuck up behind Dean, driving the knife into his side. A gargled moan is all that escaped her as she watched with numb horror as Dean went to his knees. Hope closed her eyes, and knowing she was out of options, she prayed harder than she ever had in her life. 

_Castiel, I don't know where you are or what happened to you, but Sam and Dean are about to die. They need your help, so please—I'm begging you. I don't have much time left, please save them._

There was no response, and Hope wasn't sure what she expected. She closed her eyes, realizing a moment too late that silence had fallen amid the chaos around her. "What the—?" she murmured. 

_"Hope! Hope, can you hear me?"_ A voice rang in her head, and Hope struggled to focus on the sound. 

_"Castiel?"_

_"Yes, it's me. I heard your prayer, but I can't help. Not like this."_

_"What's wrong?"_

_"I was forced out of my vessel, and since there isn't a suitable one around—"_

_"Use me,"_ Hope interrupted. _"Use me to save them. Please, you can't let them die."_

_"You could die, Hope. You do realize that?"_

_"Yes, Castiel, I understand. Now, do it!"_

The lights in the room flickered, glowing brightly before exploding into a shower of sparks as a surge of raw celestial energy coursed through Hope's veins. All movement in the room ceased as everyone stopped, mouths hanging open in shocked awe as Hope lifted her head. Her eyes glowed blue as she jerked free of the shackles binding her wrists, ripping the gag free of her mouth as the shadow of Castiel's wings spread wide behind her. 

Hope moved through the room with a practiced precision that was not her own, smiting demons with an unrestrained vengeance. A few minutes later, the remaining demons smoked out of their meat suits, leaving Hope standing amid a pile of eyeless demon corpses. The smell of charred flesh and fresh blood hung in the air as Dean stared up at Hope, brow knitted in confusion as his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He took a heavy, hitching breath as the realization of what Hope had done hit him. 

"Cas?" 

Hope nodded, and without saying another word, pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead, healing all his injuries. She turned to Sam, repeating the gesture, and smiled slightly as Sam gasped, sitting bolt upright and rubbing his face, blinking hard in disbelief as he glanced back and forth between Hope and Dean. 

"It's alright, Sam," Hope said. "But we have to go. Can you stand?" Sam nodded, grimacing as he got to his feet. Dean forced himself to stand, and Hope placed herself between them, grasping their shoulders as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the three of them were standing back in Bobby's living room. 

"I have to go," Castiel said, in Hope's voice. "I'll be here as soon as I find a more permanent solution. Please be careful until then." 

_"Castiel, wait."_

_"What is it?"_

_"What is the event you were talking about before you disappeared?"_

_"You've already figured it out, Hope. You don't need me to tell you."_

_"But—"_

_"I have to go now, Hope. If I don't your vessel will explode, and Sam and Dean have survived enough trauma for one day, don't you think?"_

Castiel didn't wait for an answer, and Hope felt the surge of celestial energy recede as her body became her own once more. Hope's hands automatically went to the wound at her side, only to find the skin intact and no evidence there was ever an open wound. She pulled her hand away from her side, staring at it in confusion, then glanced questioningly between Sam and Dean. Hope took a stumbling step forward, her eyes rolling up into her head as she collapsed to the floor. 

"Hope?" Dean said, sinking to his knees as he rolled Hope onto her back. "Hope, can you hear me?" 


	20. Whiskey to My Soul

"Dean?" Hope coughed, rolling to her side as she tried to sit up. Dean moved to help her, but she shrugged him off, blinking hard as she looked around the room. "Are you guys okay?"

"Are we okay?" Sam snorted, helping Dean to his feet. They both turned, holding their hands out to Hope. She rolled her eyes but took their hands and let them help her up. "You saved our asses back there, and you're worried if we're okay?" 

"Technically, Castiel saved all our asses back there," Hope said dryly, every cell in her body still vibrating with the memory of the angel's presence. "Talk about being touched by an angel." She tried to take a step without leaning on Dean, stumbling slightly. 

"Hope?" Dean asked, holding her upright and frowning as beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. "What's wrong?" 

"I-I'm okay," Hope said, giving his arm a small squeeze in reassurance, "I think." She closed her eyes as pain exploded behind them, starbursting across her eyelids in dazzling patterns of red and white, going limp in Dean's arms. 

"Or not," Dean said, grunting softly with the sudden extra weight against his chest. Without a word, he picked her up and carried her to the guest room. He laid her down on the bed and sat down next to her, brushing her hair from her face. 

There was a soft knock on the door as Sam stuck his head inside. "She alright?" He whispered as he moved toward the bed, closing the door behind him. Dean nodded, looking away as Sam sank down on the opposite edge of the bed. 

"She will be. I hope," Dean said, shaking his head. "This is why I can't do this, Sam. Since she's met me, there's been nothing but pain in her life. It's never going to stop, and I—" Dean stopped, pressing his lips into a firm line. 

"You what, Dean?" Sam asked, confident he knew the words Dean didn't say. Dean shook his head, unwilling to complete the thought. Sam shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "I know you don't think you can, or should, act on whatever this is," Sam gestured between Dean and Hope, "but you should. You absolutely should. Life is too short, Dean. We should know that better than anyone." 

"Exactly," Dean said, absently scratching the stubble on his jaw. "Life _is_ too short already. But _our_ lives? Sam, if Hope and I pursue this, her lifespan is cut in half—just like that." He snapped his fingers. "I can't do that to her. I won't do that to her." 

"Don't you get it?" Sam shot back. "Angels want her dead, and you saw what just happened with the demons, and we both know they're not going to stop. Without you, her chances of surviving this are less than half. So, the way I see it, there's nothing to lose." 

"You would say that," Dean muttered, shaking his head again as he gazed at Hope's face. "You're the one who doesn't understand, Sam. I _can't_ lose her. Back there, when it was clear I couldn't save both of you, I couldn't choose who to save, so I didn't. I decided if I can't save you both, I was going to die beside you both. There's no other way for this to end now, and that scares the freakin' hell outta me, man." 

"I do know what that feels like. At least a little bit," Sam replied, taking a deep breath before he continued. "I also know I'd rather die _knowing_ someone loved me that much, and that I got to spend even a little bit of my life with them, than spend whatever time I had left wondering," Sam replied, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so slightly as he studied Hope's face. "And maybe, just maybe, if you and Hope can make it work in spite of everything else—the rest of us have a shot in hell at finding something like that. I mean, what if that's the whole point?" 

Silence fell between them as Dean considered Sam's words. He couldn't think of a single rebuttal for Sam's argument, but he wasn't really trying all that hard. His blood quickened in his veins as he realized he'd finally run out of road, so to speak, and there was nothing left to do now but make a new trail. He could do that, couldn't he? He wasn't a man who was content being bound by Fate and the path God and the Universe laid out for him. No matter what, he would do things his own way, he always had, and he didn't plan to change that anytime soon. Fate or no Fate, Sam was right about one thing. Dean would also rather die knowing someone loved him than alone and unsure anyone would even miss him when he was gone. Hope deserved to know it too—and so much more. 

"Alright," Sam muttered, standing up. "I'm gonna leave you two alone now. You should probably stay with her until she wakes up." He moved to the door, his hand resting on the knob when he heard Dean's voice. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean whispered, glancing over his shoulder to Sam. "And Sam? 

"Hmm?" 

"Thanks." 

Sam's face cracked into a wry smile as he pulled the door open. "Anytime, Dean," he said, closing the door softly behind him as he left. Dean watched him go, then turned his attention back to Hope. He laid down on the bed beside her, pulling her gently into his embrace as he stared at her face, trying to memorize her features. 

After several minutes of silence, Hope frowned as though she could feel someone's eyes on her, and she opened her own, blinking in confusion. "You're still here," she croaked, grimacing at the rasp of her voice. "Why?" 

"Would you rather I not be?" Dean asked, and Hope thought she detected a note of hurt in his voice. She chewed her lip as she considered the question. 

"No," she said finally, and she could almost swear she heard the breath Dean held escaping through his slightly parted lips. She swallowed hard, closing her good eye again before finishing her thought. "I want you here with me, Dean. It's all I've ever wanted. I know you said you'll always choose Sam. I thought I understood it, but the truth is—" she stopped, trying to decide whether to keep talking. 

Honestly, Hope didn't know if what she was about to say even mattered. Dean knew she loved him. He wasn't deaf; he heard what Hope said to Heather that night. The fact that he'd never mentioned it and that they'd never really talked about it was enough of a reason for Hope to pretend it hadn't happened too. But now, after seeing just how close she'd come to losing him, Hope was done pretending. She just hoped Dean felt the same way. Otherwise, things were about to get awkward and painful—for both of them. 

Hope took a deep breath, forcing herself to look into Dean's eyes. "The truth is, I don't understand it. Not necessarily the choosing Sam part, that makes sense, it's the black and white, either-or that bothers me. Why does Sam have to be the only choice? If you can explain that to me, I swear I will let the whole thing go. I love you, Dean, but I also understand that just because you love someone completely, it doesn't mean you're good for them." 

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he willed himself to keep it together. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? It never ceased to amaze him how easily both Hope and Sam could figure him out, even when he refused to share his thoughts. Hope's logic made just as much sense as Sam's, and he had no clear answer to her question. At one point, long before he met Hope, Dean could've answered that question with a simple, "it's my job," and he would've been satisfied. Now...not so much. Yes, it was still his job to keep Sam safe and look after him, but as Sam pointed out, he was now a grown man. So one way or another, Dean had to start learning to let go, just a little. 

Dean cleared his throat, changing positions to prop his head up with his hand. "Hope—" he started, taking a deep breath through his nose. "The answer to that question is I don't know. When Sam was little, it was my job to take care of him, but now...I don't know how to be anything else than what I am. I'm a hunter, a killer, and it's my job to protect Sam and anyone else I love from the things that hide in the darkness and threaten to take them away." 

Hope said nothing as she held his gaze and waited for him to continue. "Before I met you, there was only one person in this world I absolutely couldn't live without. For anyone other than Sam, death was just a fact of life. I mean, everyone dies right? No need to get all sentimental and sappy about it." Dean cracked a small smile, then licked his lips as he ordered his thoughts. "But that hasn't been true for a long time now. Sam isn't the only person in the world I couldn't live without, Hope. If something happened to you…" his voice trailed off as he left the thought unfinished. 

Hope stared at Dean, her disbelieving eyes glassy with unshed tears. Did Dean really just say that he couldn't live without her? Her heart leaped into her throat, lodging itself at the bottom, and it was impossible to make anything other than small croaking noises as she tried to form words. 

Dean watched as Hope opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for air, each time about to speak, then thinking better of it and saying nothing. Her frown deepened, and she lowered her gaze to avoid his. "What's wrong?" 

Panic flooded his mind as he waited for Hope to answer. Had he waited too long to say something? He knew she might have been over waiting on him to get his shit together, but then again, she'd said yes to Cas possessing her to save them, so that had to mean something, right? 

"Nothing," Hope replied, her eyes glinting with tears as she gave him a tight smile. "It's-It's nothing. Promise." The memory of her telepathic conversation with Castiel flooded her mind, and her chest tightened. How could she tell Dean any of it? She couldn't just blurt it out; it had taken him six years to admit feeling _anything_ for her at all. No way in all the levels of hell existed she was going to drop that knowledge on him and risk him disappearing on her again. Not now, not ever. Besides, there was a whole other set of issues that came with Castiel's admission, and all of those issues were hers. At this rate, she'd probably die of old age before the "event" ever took place. 

"Hope?" Dean drawled out her name, gripping her chin lightly with this thumb and index finger as she tried to avoid his gaze. Once it was obvious he wasn't giving up, she closed her eyes in sheer stubbornness. "Oh, so that's how you want to be then?" He snorted, letting go of her chin and sitting up on the edge of the bed, trying and failing to stifle a smile. 

Hope panicked as Dean left the space next to her and snapped her eyes open, only to find him sitting with one hip cocked on the edge of the bed, smirking at her. "You ass," she teased, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. 

"Got you to look at me though, didn't it?" Dean replied. Hope's lower lip formed a slight pout as she shrugged, and suddenly all he could think about was kissing her. He cleared his throat, turning away from her. 

"I guess it did." Hope turned her head toward him, frowning in confusion as he stood and started pacing the length of the room. "What's wrong? You seem—uncharacteristically nervous." 

"I'm fine," Dean said. Clearly, he was anything _but_ fine, but Hope shrugged it off. It wasn't like she was laying it all out there either, so she couldn't fault him for being evasive. 

"You're not," Hope said mildly. Dean glanced at her, and she pushed herself up, leaning back on her elbows as she regarded him with a knowing look. "It's okay though, I'm not alright either. These last few weeks have been absolutely insane, and I don't even know which way is up anymore. I get it," She paused, leaning on one elbow to gesture at him, "whatever _it_ is. Trust me, I know 'not fine' when I see it." 

Dean stopped pacing and frowned at Hope, who gave him a wry smile in return. When he didn't reply, she shrugged, sighing and sitting up at the end of the bed, letting her feet hang off the edge as her toes grazed the floor. He watched her move, feeling all the words he wanted to say die on the edge of his lips and wondering what in the actual hell was wrong with him. Was it really that hard to say three little words? 

Hope crossed the room, stopping in front of the door and gazing back at him as she rested her hand on the knob. "Dean, I'm—" 

Dean crossed the room, took Hope's face into his hands and covered her mouth with his own in a kiss that melted her bones and made her forget what she was trying to say. Hope curled her fists against Dean's chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though she were drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat. 

The kiss left her breathless and wanting more as she pulled away, her eyes searching his. It was impossible to think, or even breathe, with Dean so close to her, and it left her heart and mind locked in an endless battle. Did she hold on to the last shred of control she had, saving her heart from shattering later? Or did she let go, knowing she would never be the same again? 

"Hope," Dean whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against hers and taking deep, gulping breaths as he tried to hold onto a single shred of self-control. "I need you." 

Hope's breath caught in her throat, and she almost lost herself at his words. She caught his mouth with hers in an answering kiss, then pulled away with a sigh, leaning her head back against the door. Dean watched her in confusion, trying to decide what to do next. Hope sighed again, coming to a decision. She wanted this, and she wanted it with him, but it didn't seem fair to not tell him what she knew. 

"What's wrong?" Dean asked as he started to back away, thinking he might've done something to upset her. Hope reached out and caught his hand, nodding toward the bed. 

"Nothing's wrong, Dean. I'm okay, I promise, but we need to talk before this goes any further." Hope sank down onto the bed, motioning for him to do the same as she ran her palms along her thighs. "Look, I don't know exactly how to say this, so I'm just gonna spit it out. I think I figured out what event Castiel was referring to as the next fixed point, and if I'm right, you aren't going to like it. I'm not even sure I like it, but that's because of the other things I know." 

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, his brows knitting together as he sat beside her. Hope closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the ceiling, taking a deep breath before fixing her gaze on Dean's face. 

"After Cas saved me and I was in that coma, something happened," Hope said, pressing her palms into her thighs and straightening her arms as she fought the urge to move a safe distance away from Dean. "I had these crazy, vivid dreams about us. All kinds of things—birthdays, Christmases, funerals, and—" she paused, blowing out a breath as she gathered the courage to continue. 

"And kids," Dean breathed, remembering the flashes of dreams he'd had the few times he'd dozed off while holding her hand. Hope stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly, momentarily speechless. 

"Wait—" she said, shaking her head, "you knew?" 

"Knew what?" Dean replied, his frown deepening. "They were just dreams, Hope." 

Hope tilted her head back again, taking another deep breath. "No, they weren't," she said quietly. "I thought they were just dreams for a while too, but they are memories. I can't remember most of what I saw now though." There didn't seem to be a point in telling him the one memory she did remember, at least not right now. 

"Okay, let's say they are memories," Dean said, getting up and pacing the floor by the bed, "what does that have to do with the 'event' Cas was talking about? All of that stuff has already happened in different lifetimes or whatever." 

"Think about it, Dean!" Hope tapped her temple with an index finger. "What is an event that has no set date on a calendar, but could be considered important enough to become a fixed point in time?" 

Dean's eyes darted side to side, his mouth set into a grim line as he wracked his brain for the answer. Hope sat silent, patiently waiting for him to come to his own conclusion. After a few minutes of silence, Dean finally said, "A death." 

"Right," Hope said patiently. "And what else?" She watched as he frowned in confusion, staring at the floor for a moment before raising his gaze to her in disbelief, finally understanding the answer. 

"A birth." 

"Bingo!" Hope said with an ironic chuckle. "Get this man a prize, Johnny." 

'Wait, seriously?" Dean said, grimacing. "All of creation is depending on you to have a child? That seems a bit much to ask of anyone." 

"Yeah, well, all of creation is just going to die is all I can say," Hope let out a bitter sigh, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling as angry tears welled in her eyes. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give in and let them fall. Hope had spent the last six years trying to control that anger, and she wasn't about to fail now. 

Dean gave Hope a look somewhere between shock and confusion, and he stopped pacing to perch on the side of the bed as he studied her face. "Why do you say that?" Hope's lip trembled, and she bit down on it as Dean watched her, instantly regretting asking the question. He knew why, or at least he thought he did. 

"Because," Hope said, taking a deep breath to steady her voice, "I'm almost 35 years old for one, even if I could have children, it's too late now. Besides, there's typically only one way to get pregnant, unless you want a whole team of extra people involved—which," she paused, shuddering, "um, no thanks. Anyway, that's not something I've found myself able to do either." 

Hope closed her eyes, wishing and, if she were honest, waiting for Dean to get up and leave. To her surprise, he didn't. When she chanced a peek at him from under her lashes, Dean was staring at the bedspread, looking like he was deep in thought. He felt her gaze on him, glancing up to meet her eyes. 

"I'm just processing," Dean murmured. "I don't want to pry, but you said 'even if you could have children,' does that mean—" 

"It means those assholes took more than my dignity from me that night," Hope snapped, turning her face toward the headboard to keep Dean from seeing the tear that slid down her nose. "Did you think I drank so much because of you? I mean, yeah, there's that, but it ain't the only reason." _Speaking of which..._

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Dean said in a low voice tinged with sadness. He wasn't sure why her admission made him feel that way. He'd thought about settling down and having a family—once, but he put that dream aside and focused on the bigger picture. It was one thing choosing to sacrifice something like that to hopefully make the world a better place. It was quite another to have it taken without consent. "I can't imagine…" 

"Don't." Hope shot upright, pointing a trembling finger at him. Her lip quivered and her tears fell, refusing to be contained any longer as she fought to keep herself together. Dean flinched, holding up his hands. "I don't want your pity, Dean. I don't need it, not from you." 

Hope angrily wiped away the tears from her cheeks as a tense silence fell between them. After a few moments, Hope sighed, folding her hands in her lap in resignation. "Just go. I know that's what you want to do anyway, so just go ahead and get it over with." 

There was no bitterness in her voice now, and Dean found that to be worse than anything else she'd said. It was as if she'd given up, and he cursed the irony of the situation. Hope had lost her namesake, and Dean had a feeling if she didn't get it back soon, their sad, doomed little world would be in a galaxy of trouble. 

"Hope," Dean said softly, moving closer to her on the bed as Hope curled into herself and moved away from him. He sighed, running a hand down his face as he decided what to do next. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to carry this alone." 

"Well, no one's going to do it for me," Hope snapped. "Especially not you." Why did everything still have to hurt so much after all this time? Why couldn't she just have one regular, non-batshit-crazy night? Was that too much to ask? 

_You started this, you know. If you'd just kept your big damn mouth shut, the two of you would probably have fallen into bed together, and everything would be well—the opposite of whatever this is._

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean's annoyed voice brought Hope out of her thoughts, and she shook her head in response. 

"Nothing, Dean," Hope replied, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I'm too sober for this conversation and I just don't want to feel a damn thing anymore. I don't want my heart to break every time I think about any of it. For a long time, I thought I had to be dreaming because this nightmare couldn't possibly be my life. I want my life back, the life I had before I let Heather talk me into going to that stupid party."

"That life is gone, Hope, and you know it," Dean said as Hope scoffed in return. "Sooner or later you're going to have to face those demons, or they will destroy you." Hope lifted her gaze and stared at Dean with an 'are you kidding me?' look. He flashed a lopsided smile, then shook his head. "I know, I don't have _any_ room whatsoever to talk, but it's true, and I think you know that too." 

"You sound like my therapist," Hope grumbled, picking at her cuticles. "That bullshit didn't work then, and it's not going to work now. I need a fucking drink, and to not be having this conversation anymore. It's not like it matters that much to you anyway." 

Hope slid off the bed and started for the door, but Dean caught her wrist in an iron grip. Her eyes darted between his face and his hand clamped firmly on her wrist. "Let me go, Dean, or I swear to God I will make you regret it." 

"Is that so?" Dean replied, standing and gazing down at her from his considerable height advantage. He still held her wrist, refusing to let go. "Do what you think you gotta do, sweetheart, but you should know that this does matter to me. Hope, everything about you matters to me." 

Hope tried to jerk free of his grasp, but he held on, deftly blocking her attacks as she tried to punch and slap him with her free hand. "You're full of shit! Now let me go!" She growled through gritted teeth. Dean just stared at her, those green eyes boring into her soul. Hope hated them, hated _him,_ but most of all, she hated herself and what she'd become. Why the fuck wouldn't he let her go? She was trying to leave; didn't he recognize the gesture? 

"Hope, stop," Dean commanded, but all that did was fuel her rage. She struggled harder against him, yelling curses as she punched and kicked him. For several minutes, he blocked the attacks he could, took the brunt of the ones he couldn't, but he never let her go in the hope that she would tire out. He knew he was taking a risk, holding her like this and not letting her run out on him, but he couldn't think of anything else to do at that moment. Hadn't they been running from each other long enough? 

"Why?" Hope demanded. Hot, angry tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, her face flushed with anger and exertion, but she didn't stop fighting him. "Why does it matter to you?" 

"Damn it! It matters because I love you!" Dean bellowed, the sound echoing off the walls of the room as Hope fell silent and still, blinking like a deer in headlights. 


	21. 'Til There's Nothing Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so the second half of this chapter is smut. I'm not very experienced writing smut, so please be gentle.

Well, that was certainly one way to say it. Dean let go of Hope's wrist, and she jerked away from him, pinning him with a fierce gaze. "You're lying." The flat tone of Hope's voice belied the messy knot of emotions raging beneath the surface of her now calm demeanor. What the hell was she doing? Dean just gave her everything she'd ever wanted from him, and she called him a liar. 

_"You really are broken beyond repair, little girl_ ," that snarky inner voice said. Hope ran a hand down her face, ignoring the fresh tears that sprang to her eyes. Everything inside her screamed for her to run out the door and not to look back. There would be nothing but pain for her here with Dean. And yet, she couldn't force herself to move a single inch. 

"Hope, look at me," Dean said, his voice rough with emotion, and Hope couldn't refuse, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm lying to you." 

Hope searched his face, trying to find some evidence in his expression—a quirk of the mouth, a lifted eyebrow, something—anything to prove he was lying. Finding nothing, she shook her head and took a step back, stumbling into the side of the bed. "I-I don't understand," she said, shaking her head in confusion as she stared at the floor. Her mind felt like it was short-circuiting as the fuse box caught fire. "I knew I loved you from the beginning, but...I never once thought…after everything that happened—what you saw," Hope's words tumbled out in a breathy rush as she buried her face in her hands. 

"Hope—" Dean reached for her, but Hope didn't move as she regarded him with a blank stare. "I'm sorry I ever hurt you and that I made you think I didn't care about you. I was just so scared, so desperate to keep you safe I threw away the only real happiness I've known since my mom died." Dean sat with one hip cocked on the edge of the bed, then blew out a breath. "I loved you then, but I told myself I was doing the right thing. I thought if I repeated it like a mantra, sooner or later I'd have to start believing it, but that never happened. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was your face, and the way you looked right before you walked away." 

Tears welled in his eyes, and he turned away from her, blinking them away as one escaped down his cheek. Hope was right; dealing with this was like pressing a taser to an exposed nerve. Too late now, though. When he turned back to her, she regarded him with an odd expression. "What?" he asked. 

Hope pursed her lips, frowning slightly and studying him, determined to find a shred of doubt that he spoke the truth. "Why?" she said finally with a small, frustrated sigh. 

"Why what?" 

"Why do you love me?" Hope shook her head slightly. 

"What, do you want me to quote Shakespeare? Is that it?" Dean quipped, the corners of his mouth twitching. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...blah blah and all that." 

"Browning," Hope murmured, shaking her head as a wide grin crept across her face. 

"What?" He asked, frowning slightly. 

"That's not Shakespeare, dork." Hope closed her eyes, her tongue catching between her teeth as she chuckled at him. "It's Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And no, that's not what I want." 

"Well—whatever. You know what I meant." The tips of Dean's ears turned slightly pink as he grinned at her, and he looked so adorably awkward in that moment laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it. 

"I'm sorry," Hope gasped, clamping her lips together and failing to stifle a smile. "I'm not laughing _at_ you, but your face—you're adorable, you know that?" 

"So are you," Dean replied. "I think that's the first time you've truly laughed since I met you." 

Hope's smile faltered, and she studied her hands. "I suppose it is. But, I haven't really had a whole lot to be happy about, you know?" 

"I know," Dean replied, reaching out and putting a hand on Hope's face. She didn't pull away or resist, and he took that as a good sign. "But happiness is a good look on you." 

One corner of Hope's mouth lifted in an ironic smile as she resolved to look anywhere but right at his face. "Thanks, I guess." 

An idea struck him as he remembered what day it was. "Come with me," Dean said, taking her hand. "I want to show you something." Hope frowned but didn't resist as he led her out of the room and through the library and kitchen, picking up a bottle of bourbon from Bobby's liquor cabinet and two plastic cups along the way. 

"What are you doing?" Hope asked, her frown deepening as she grew more confused. He gave her a mischievous grin, squeezing her hand and nodding toward the door. 

"You'll see." He led her out to the Impala, pulling open the driver side door and gesturing for her to get in. Hope shrugged, then climbed into the car scooting over to the passenger seat as Dean climbed in behind her. 

Dean started the Impala, gravel crunching under the tires as he guided the car away from the house. Sam watched them leave from the upstairs window, mentally high-fiving himself. Hope and Dean's argument was loud enough he'd heard it all the way upstairs in his room, and he'd snuck downstairs just in time to hear Dean's declaration. He'd grinned like a madman all the way back to his room. Maybe there was hope for Dean after all. 

~~~~~

Dean turned off the main highway onto an overgrown dirt road that looked like it hadn't been traveled in years. The sun had set hours ago, and Hope wondered to herself how Dean could even find this road in the dark. They rode in silence, the radio playing softly as the two of them wandered around, lost in their own thoughts. 

A few minutes later, the road ended, joining with a narrow trail through a copse of trees that opened up to a narrow strip of sandy beach on the shore of a vast lake. Dean parked the car, shutting off the engine as he stared out over the water. 

"Where are we?" Hope murmured, reminding herself to just keep breathing. 

"It's a place Bobby used to bring us fishing when Dad dropped us off for weeks at a time," Dean said, and Hope didn't miss the slight venom in Dean's tone when he spoke of John. 

"So you wanted to show me your favorite fishing spot in the middle of the night? How romantic," Hope teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Dean looked slightly hurt for a moment before he saw the glint in her eyes. He rolled his eyes, then gave her a "you're an idiot" look. 

"No, genius," Dean said, shaking his head as he opened the door. "I said I wanted to show you something else, and this is the best place I know to see it. Come on." He got out of the car, and Hope watched as he set the cups on the hood and poured two fingers of bourbon into each. Dean picked up one cup, gesturing toward Hope with it as she climbed out of the car. What the hell was he up to? 

Hope took the cup, sniffing slightly as she took a sip. It wasn't as good as the whiskey, but it would do. Dean downed his cup in a couple of swallows, then poured another. With a mischievous grin, he leaned against the hood of the car and bent over to pull off his boots. 

Hope nearly choked on her drink as she watched him. "What the hell are you doing?" she sputtered, watching him with wide eyes as panic flooded her chest. If she was too sober to have the conversation earlier, she was undoubtedly too sober to do whatever he had in mind. 

Dean gave her a confused frown, then grinned and shook his head. "It's so I don't scratch the paint," he said, gesturing toward the hood as he jumped up on it, leaning back against the windshield. He patted the hood next to him, and Hope swallowed her drink, passing him the cup to refill as she slipped off her shoes and joined him on the hood of the Impala. 

Hope tried to ignore the jumbled mass of emotions and anxiety that filled the pit of her stomach. There was so much to process that she didn't even know where to begin. She wondered idly how Dean was so calm about everything that had just transpired between them. What she didn't know was that he was a wreck of emotions as well, hence the bottle of bourbon. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it would definitely help loosen his tongue. 

"So are you gonna tell me why you brought me out here, or do I have to guess?" Hope asked, downing the bourbon and glancing sidelong at Dean. He said nothing, just passed Hope the bottle and took a drink, folding his arm behind his head and staring up at the stars. 

"Just watch," Dean murmured, almost too low for Hope to hear. She rolled her eyes but said nothing, deciding to forgo the cup and just drink straight from the bottle. It had been years since Hope drank straight from a bottle, but she justified it because they almost died. Yeah—that was a good reason; she could work with that. 

Hope set the bottle down, glancing up as the first meteor blazed a trail across the indigo sky. Her face lit up in childlike wonder as meteors shot across the sky at even intervals until the night sky was almost ablaze with them. Dean watched Hope's face, her eyes wide in amazement, and he forgot all about the meteor shower. It wasn't what he wanted to see anyway. He'd seen it a few times growing up, and he'd always enjoyed it, but it was nothing compared to witnessing the look on Hope's face as she gazed up at the sky. 

At that moment, Dean understood everything Sam and Jody had been trying to tell him. He even understood why John Winchester had turned into nothing but a shell of a man when Mary died. He slid off the hood, the packed sand gritty beneath his bare feet as he stood near the front of the car and held out his hand to Hope, gesturing for her to follow. She raised one eyebrow, then slid off the hood and stumbled into his waiting arms. "Oops," she murmured. Her head was buzzing with the bourbon, and the world spun slightly, but it moved in slow motion when she turned her glassy gaze up into Dean's. 

Well, she just thought she knew how to breathe. 

Dean gave Hope a small smile as he searched her face like it alone held the keys to the universe's secrets. Their eyes locked for several moments, the meteors falling all across the sky in a neverending shower of light. When his lips touched hers, soft and questioning, Hope inhaled so deeply she thought her lungs might explode. 

When Dean pressed his forehead to hers, his face breaking into that wide, boyish grin she'd seen a few times, the last of Hope's defenses crumbled, and she let herself give in to all the feelings she'd been trying to deny for the previous six years. Maybe it was the bourbon, or perhaps it was the way she found herself getting lost in the unspoken secrets of his eyes whenever Dean looked at her, but the truth was, Hope loved Dean more than even she understood. They were both there, together, and he loved her too. Hope still didn't know why he loved her, but when he'd been watching her earlier with that look like she was the only other person on the planet, she decided that it didn't matter what his reasons were. 

Hope laced her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers, feeling his pulse pounding beneath her palms. When Dean's tongue found hers, the low groan that escaped his throat was almost her undoing. Desire surged through every nerve in her body like tiny bolts of lighting, leaving her weak and breathless when he broke the kiss, panting slightly as he yanked his shirt over his head, his mouth crashing into hers a second later. 

Hope dug her fingertips into his shoulders, pulling him closer as he ran his hands along her sides, pulling up her shirt and exposing her skin to the warm night air. He pulled away long enough to gently lift it and the bralette she wore over her head and discard it somewhere behind them on the hood of the car. Hope gasped as Dean lifted her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he turned, setting her down on the hood of the Impala. He explored every inch of her exposed skin with his hands and lips, leaving alternating trails of gooseflesh and fire in their wake. 

Hope sucked in a breath, biting her lip when his thumbs brushed across her nipples as he trailed his hands down her body. She leaned back, propping herself on her elbows, eyes closing as her head fell back. He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue moving expertly, licking and sucking first one, then the other, and her breathing diminished to nothing but ragged gasps. She laid flat as his mouth left her breasts and he continued his exploration of her body, her skin quivering beneath his lips as he left feather light kisses all over her exposed skin. 

Hope wondered if it was possible to literally die from being touched. Her blood thundered in her ears, and panic reared its ugly head somewhere in the back of her mind. This is Dean, she reminded herself over and over as she put her hand on his face and pulled him into another kiss. He happily kissed her again, and Hope breathed easier as the panic subsided. When she could remember to breathe, anyway. 

Dean unbuttoned her jeans, breaking the kiss to search Hope's face for any signs of fear. She flashed him a shy smile, nodding her head once, and he slipped her jeans down over her hips and off her legs. For a long moment, he stared at her, her bare skin bathed in the soft light of the meteor shower as she lay open and waiting for him. He trailed his fingertips along the length of her thighs, smiling as she gasped, forcing herself to breathe in response to his touch, and the heat of her was almost irresistible as he brushed his palm lightly over her mound. 

_Yep. This is it, this is where I'm going to die._ Hope closed her eyes, relishing every sensation as Dean took his time exploring every inch of her body with his lips and tongue, his fingers leaving trails of fire along her skin that burned all the way to her soul. She wasn't experienced by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew for certain no one she'd ever been with had sparked the raging inferno at the very core of her being the way Dean had done effortlessly. 

As Dean left another trail of kisses across Hope's thighs, a low moan escaped her lips, and she spread her legs slightly in invitation. That was all the invitation Dean needed, and with a feather-light touch, his fingers traced the outline of her folds, and his pulse quickened at learning how ready she was. Hope moved her hips slightly, a silent invitation for Dean to explore further, and she gasped as he slid two fingers inside her, searching for and finding that secret spot. 

Hope moaned a low sound in her throat that made him want to possess her in every way imaginable, and he curled his fingers inside her, circling her clit with his thumb and pushing her closer to the edge of climax as she bucked her hips against his hand. 

Hope cried out his name as wave after wave of orgasm washed over her, and when she thought she might die from ecstasy, he took his hand away, pulling her up to him for another kiss. She inhaled sharply, the scent of bourbon, leather, and something that was so distinctly Dean filling her nose that tears sprang unbidden to the corners of her eyes, slipping silently down her cheeks. 

He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, and feeling the wetness on her cheeks, pulled away, searching her face. "What is it?" he whispered. 

"Nothing," she replied, her voice hoarse. "Nothing at all." She kissed him again, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he lifted her up, relishing the feeling of her ass in his hands. Her arms circled around his neck, and Dean carried her to the back door, opening it and setting her down on the leather seat. 

Hope reached out, unbuttoning the button fly of his jeans and pushing them down over his hips. She glanced up at him with a mischievous smirk as she touched him, trailing her hands down his thighs and stomach as she tried to memorize every inch of him. She trailed her fingers along his length, barely touching his skin. She watched his reaction with a look of confused amazement as he groaned, his body tensing at the agonizing pleasure of the light as air touch. Hope bit her lip as she watched him close his eyes, losing himself in the sensations as she did it again. 

His eyes shot open when she took him in her mouth, and he gripped the roof of the car, his knees suddenly refusing to hold him upright. Hope had no idea what she was doing, but if the sounds coming out of his mouth were any indication, she must be doing something right. Growing bolder, Hope wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, and after a few tries, she found the right rhythm between her mouth, tongue, and hand, and Dean thought he might actually die from pleasure. His body trembled as a growl escaped his throat, and his fingers ached where he gripped the roof of the car. Hope slowly pulled back, her tongue swirling around the tip as she released him. Hope glanced up at him, her eyes questioning, and when he saw the mixture of love and need in her eyes, his heart stopped, leaving him breathless. 

He let go of the car, his legs still the consistency of jello as he slipped off his pants before sliding into the back seat with her and shutting the door behind them. Hope straddled him, biting her lip as the hard length of him pressed against her. She kissed him again, feeling his gasp against her mouth when she used her hips to guide him into her. The world around them exploded into giant bursts of color and sparks as he buried himself inside her. 

Hope's body tensed involuntarily at the invasion, her mind instantly snapping back to the night at the clearing. Dean felt Hope stiffen in his arms, and he pulled back, frowning. "Are you alright?" he asked, brushing hair away from her face as he stroked her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes as she leaned into his touch, neither of them daring to move. 

"I-I'm okay," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. A few moments of silence fell between them before Hope kissed him again, her lips trembling against his as she broke the kiss. "Dean?" 

"Hmm?" No longer able to resist touching her, his fingers trailed down her arms and back as he relished the sensation of being inside her. He knew that moment, if she'd asked him for all the stars in the sky, it would be his life's purpose to give her exactly what she wanted. 

"Tell me you love me," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe and separate this moment from what happened all those years ago. "Please." 

"Hope," Dean whispered, burying his face in her neck and his fingers in her hair, "I love you. I love you more than I could ever say." Hope breathed deeply as she moved her hips, slowly at first, then faster as she kissed him again, a furious, passionate kiss that set his blood on fire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her head fall back as she quickened her pace, carrying them both right to the edge of oblivion. 

He cupped her breasts, his mouth teasing one nipple while he stroked the other with his thumb. Hope moved her hips in a circle, grinding against him and riding the high of her building climax. She panted his name as her breath left her in a low moan that almost sent Dean over the edge. He pulled his mouth away from her nipple, leaning back to get a better view as he put his hands on her hips, kneading her ass cheeks as he moved with her. 

They found their rhythm, matching the others' movements as they climbed ever higher to the peak of ecstasy. Hope's head fell back, a loud moan rising from her throat as she let go of everything else and melted into the inferno between them. 

"Hope, look at me," Dean whispered. Hope lifted her head, gazing into his eyes as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, and she groaned his name as her insides pulsed around him, begging for more. The world tilted and spun out of control, but his eyes locked her in place and Hope understood what it felt like to be truly loved. When she quickened her pace, Dean couldn't hold back any longer. 

"I love you," Dean breathed, groaning against her neck as he shuddered beneath her, and lights exploded behind his eyelids as his orgasm ripped through him, leaving them both panting and breathless. 

Hope clung to Dean for dear life as the last ripples of pleasure faded away, leaving them both spent. God, was it even possible to love another human this much? Her breath hitched in her throat as Dean ran his fingers along her back, and she giggled at the sensation, trying to escape him. He grinned at her, pulling her close and trailing kisses along her shoulder and the curve of her breasts until Hope was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. 

"Stop it, you ass," She gasped, still smiling. "I can't breathe." 

"Good," he replied, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows at her. "My job isn't done until you're breathless." 

"Well, in that case," Hope replied with a mischievous grin as she kissed him again, "you've got work to do." 


	22. Home (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are very much fluff and have almost nothing to do with the plot. Hope and Dean have been through so much already, and it's only just beginning for them, so they've definitely earned a minute to breathe. Enjoy!

Dawn was blooming over the lake surface as Hope and Dean dressed in companionable silence. Unspoken questions bounced around inside Hope’s mind, but she didn’t want to break whatever spell they were under by speaking them aloud. Instead, she decided to let the answers come out when in their own time, just like everything else.

After she dressed, Hope crawled over the seat—much to Dean’s annoyance, and settled herself in the Impala’s front passenger seat to watch the sunrise. It was something she’d always enjoyed, but she didn’t do it often enough. In fact, the last time she remembered watching the sunrise was the morning she’d found Licorice. A stab of longing hit her in the chest as Hope thought about her cat, hoping that Loretta was taking good care of him. 

Dean watched the profile of Hope’s face as he finished lacing his boots. Hope didn’t appear to notice him, lost in thought as she was, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he realized he wanted nothing more than to know what she was thinking right that moment. He pushed the back door open and got out as Hope watched him pour out the whiskey they’d left in their cups and put the bottle in the trunk. 

He got in the car, glancing sidelong at Hope as he started the engine. “Pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Huh?” Hope startled slightly, then flashed him a shy smile. “Oh—yeah it is. I was just thinking that I should watch the sunrise more often. I haven’t seen one since I found Licorice under my porch four years ago.” 

_Ah, the cat. That explains the sad face._ Dean nodded, turning the car around and heading back toward the highway. He turned up the radio, chuckling as Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” played. Hope closed her eyes as a broad smile crept across her face. She laid her head back against the seat, bobbing it along with the beat and singing the words in her head. 

“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy,” Dean sang softly, and Hope turned to watch him, slightly amazed. For as much of a music lover as Hope remembered Dean to be, she’d never once heard him sing. He wasn’t half bad, either. “Out in the back seat of my ‘60 Chevy...” 

Dean felt Hope’s gaze on him and he went quiet as the tips of his ears turned slightly pink. Hope grinned and laid her hand over his on the seat between them, then turned her face toward the top of the car. “Working on mysteries without any clues...” Hope sang, glancing sideways at Dean. He shook his head, his smile widening as Hope kept on singing. “Trying to make some front page drive-in news…” 

“Workin’ on our night moves,” they sang in harmony. Dean turned his hand to squeeze Hope’s fingers, relishing the feeling that everything might just be okay as she returned the gesture. They held hands and sang along to the radio until they got back to Bobby’s house, neither of them willing to possibly break the fragile bond they’d forged. There would be plenty of time for talking and messing things up later. Right now, it was just the two of them, without all the baggage and bullshit they’d been carrying around all these years, and they were at peace; with themselves and each other. 

~~~~~ 

Sam towered over Bobby’s ancient gas stove, cooking scrambled eggs and bacon. Bobby sat at the table, the vinyl chair creaking as he moved to pick up his coffee mug. The Impala rumbled into the drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and Bobby smirked into his coffee cup as Sam’s head jerked toward the kitchen doorway. 

The screen door slammed behind Hope and Dean as they entered, talking in tones too low for Sam to hear from the kitchen. “Mornin’ lovebirds,” Bobby quipped from his seat at the table as they entered the kitchen. “Hungry?” 

“Starving,” Dean replied, winking at Hope and fetching plates from the cabinet as Sam turned off the stove. Hope avoided eye contact with everyone, busying herself with making a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table across from Bobby. He lifted one eyebrow in a silent question, and Hope shrugged one shoulder and smirked as she regarded him over the rim of her coffee mug. Dean sat down at the table, pushing a plate of food in front of Hope. “Eat,” he said, motioning to the plate. 

“I’m not—” Hope started, but Sam interrupted her as he took a seat at the table with his own plate. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” Sam said with a soft smile. “He won’t stop bugging you until you eat something. Trust me on this one.” 

Hope leaned back in the chair, her coffee mug pressed between her palms as her gaze darted between the three men. “Is this a common occurrence?” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam said, shaking his head as a smile crawled across his face. “I meant he’s constantly trying to make me eat too. It’s kinda his thing.” Understanding dawned across Hope’s face and she took a sip of her coffee to hide the smile playing on her lips. 

“I’m right here, Sam,” Dean snapped, digging into his food and shoving a huge bite of eggs into his mouth. “An’ I can hear you,” he said around the food in his mouth. 

Hope rolled her eyes, setting the cup on the table and picking up her fork. She really wasn’t that hungry, but Dean watched her, looking worried, as though if she didn’t eat the food she might starve to death right before his eyes. With a soft smile, Hope humored him and took a bite. Then another. It was as though a switch flipped and Hope was suddenly starving. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t eaten much since she woke up from the coma. She’d been a little busy trying not to die. 

“So what did you two get up to last night?” Bobby asked nonchalantly, unfolding the paper in his hands and pretending to read it. Just like Sam, he’d heard Hope and Dean’s argument the night before. Bobby was certain that Dean hadn’t meant for everyone in a one hundred mile radius to hear that exchange, but Hope was being obstinate, so what choice did Dean have to get her to shut up and listen? 

Dean concentrated on his food, unwilling to put Hope on the spot by giving the normal glib retort. Sex usually didn’t mean all that much to him, but it was different this time. Knowing how that night in the clearing still haunted Hope, Dean was all too aware that what they’d done was more than just sex. Hope trusted him enough to let it happen, and of all the ways he could possibly think of to fuck up this newfound whatever-it-was between them, pretending like it didn’t matter and hurting her that way would not be one of them. He shrugged, giving Hope a conspiratorial wink. “Eh, you know. We couldn’t sleep, so we took Baby out for a drive.” 

“You went for a drive?” Sam said, frowning in suspicion. “All night?” Dean licked his lips and glanced at Hope, who struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Yeah, Sam,” Hope said, her eyes glinting with secrets as she spoke, “We drove out to the lake and watched the meteor shower, then sang some carpool karaoke.” Hope didn’t take her eyes off Dean as she hummed a few bars of “Night Moves.” Dean snorted, almost choking on a bite of bacon and struggling to contain his own laughter as he joined her in humming the song. Dean stared at Sam as he hummed along, his eyes glinting with humor. Sam shook his head in confusion, then closed his eyes, groaning and facepalming as understanding hit him. 

“Took you long enough,” Bobby grumbled. He smirked behind his paper, making a show of adjusting it while Hope, Dean, and Sam all dissolved into choked laughter as they finished their breakfast. 

~~~~~ 

**_One Week Later_ **

Dean’s phone rang, and Hope looked up from the mythology book she was studying, arching one eyebrow in curiosity. “It’s Jody,” Dean murmured, answering the call and walking outside to get a better signal. Hope shrugged, returning her attention to the book. It struck her as odd how little use she’d had for mythology, fairytales and the like growing up, believing them all to just be stories parents told their kids to make them behave. Things like that weren’t real; they couldn’t be. Now, she wished on a daily basis she’d paid better attention. 

The wall of phones in Bobby’s kitchen started ringing, and Sam and Bobby both answered them, giving instructions or pretending to be important government officials. Hope chuckled to herself as she turned another page, wondering how many times an ER doctor like herself had called those very phone numbers. Wouldn’t that have been one hell of a coincidence? 

Dean paced back and forth on the porch, pressing the phone to his ear and glancing nervously into the house each time he passed the open door. 

“Please Jody,” he begged, “I need Hope occupied while me and Sam take care of something.” 

“What are you and Sam planning to do?” Jody’s voice crackled in his ear. “And do you think it’s a good idea to be running off on a hunt and leaving Hope behind?” 

“It-It’s not a hunt,” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but I want to surprise Hope, and I can’t do that if she’s with me.” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific if you want me to lie to her for you,” Jody said. Dean winced at her tone, which he affectionately referred to as her ‘mom voice.’ 

He glanced through the open door, and seeing no one, turned away to whisper into the phone. “You know she had to leave everything behind when we bailed out of Lawrence. I thought Sam and I could head back there and get a few things for her. It’s been over a month, and I don’t think she’ll be able to go back to her life anytime soon, so the least I can do is bring some of her life to her.” 

“Fine,” Jody sighed. Dean could hear the face she made into the phone and he grinned. 

“Thanks, Jody. You’re awesome.” 

“I know,” Jody replied. “I’ll head over there in a bit.” 

Dean grinned, ending the call and heading back inside to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling on his laptop. Sam glanced up from the screen as Dean entered the library, one eyebrow arched in question, and Dean gave him a quick nod. 

“Are you guys hungry? Jody’s on her way over and I thought I’d make some burgers,” Dean said, moving around the kitchen to gather ingredients. Hope watched him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. All of them, even Bobby, had been acting a little _off_ for the last couple of days, and they were up to something, Hope was sure of it. She arched one eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged and avoided her eyes. 

“Dean?” Skepticism colored Hope’s tone as she watched Dean trying to avoid her. “Okay, dammit, this is ridiculous,” she grumbled, shutting the mythology book and balancing it on the corner of the desk as she stood up and stretched. “What the hell are you guys up to?” 

“Nothing,” Dean said innocently, his eyes wide and glinting with suppressed glee. 

“You’re lying,” Hope retorted, pursing her lips at him. “You’re too happy.”

“She’s got you there, dude,” Sam said from the table. Hope crossed her arms and glared at Dean, but he ignored her look in favor of shaping the burgers. 

“What? Can’t a guy just be happy once in a while?” Dean asked, shrugging innocently and avoiding Hope’s glare. 

“Sure,” Hope said, shaking her head, “but not you. You’re never just happy.” 

“Ouch.” Dean feigned being hurt, and Sam snorted. “Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart.” 

“Hmmpf,” Hope said, returning the books to the shelves. She decided to let whatever it was go for now, but she was determined to figure it out. Outside, Jody’s truck tires crunched on the gravel driveway, drawing Hope’s attention. She abandoned the books, heading for the front door. 

“Hey Jody,” Hope said, waving as Jody got out of her truck. “Do you know anything about why the boys are acting weird? It’s making me crazy.” 

For a moment, Jody looked like a deer in headlights. “Aw, damn it!” Hope complained. “Not you too! What the hell is going on?” she whined, growling in frustration as she flopped down on the wicker porch chair. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean called from the kitchen. “Guy’s gotta have his secrets.” 

Hope made a face and threw up a middle finger toward the door, thinking Dean couldn’t see her, but he had and his laughter carried out to the porch. Jody stared through the open door, her mouth falling open as her gaze darted between Hope and the door. 

“What?” Hope asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?” 

“Dean sounds—happy.” Jody shook her head. “It’s a little strange, but then again the only time I’ve ever heard him laugh it’s been bitter. It’s nice.” 

“Awesome,” Hope said in a hopeful tone. “So you’ll tell me what the hell he’s up to?” 

“Not a chance,” Jody replied, grinning at Hope as she disappeared through the screen door. “Not.a.chance.” 

“Dammit,” Hope sighed, following Jody inside. 

~~~~~ 

The five of them sat at the table stuffing their faces with Dean’s famous—to them anyway—stuffed pepper jack burgers. Hope ignored everyone around her, focused as she was on the pure joy on the plate in front of her. Dean nudged Jody’s foot under the table and she cleared her throat. 

“So, Hope,” Jody said, “the girls and I were going to spend the weekend at my cabin, and I thought you might like to go? It would give you a chance to get out of this testosterone filled bachelor pad for a couple days.” Panic rose in Hope’s chest as she instantly remembered the night of the bonfire party and how she’d ignored her first instinct to stay home. Was she really going to make that mistake again? 

“Nice try,” Hope said, glaring at Dean. “What the actual hell is going on? You pulled Jody into whatever scheme you’ve got going on. Are you _trying_ to get rid of me or something?” 

“It’s not like that, Hope,” Dean said, reaching for her hand. “It’s just a surprise, that’s all.” 

“I hate surprises,” Hope groused, crossing her arms as Sam rolled his eyes at her. 

“No,” Sam said, “you just hate not knowing everything. Just like someone else we know.” Sam gave Dean a pointed look, but Dean just shrugged. “I promise you, no one is trying to get rid of you. It’s just we need some time to figure out the logistics of the surprise and if you’re out of the house there’s less risk of spoiling it.” 

“See, Dean?” Hope said, picking up her burger to take another bite, hoping it would hide her obvious discomfort. “That’s all you had to say.” Hope glanced at Jody. “Are you sure you guys want me to go?” 

“Sure,” Jody said, a smile creeping across her face that lit up her features. “The more the merrier. It’ll be a fun girls’ weekend.” 

“I, uh—” Hope murmured, staring at the burger in her hand as it grew blurry before her. Her chest tightened and suddenly she was back in the clearing. She cleared her throat, forcing the image away. “I need some air.” 

Hope dropped her burger and bolted from the table, leaving everyone except Dean staring after her in open-mouthed shock. Without a word, Dean got up from the table and followed Hope outside. 

“What the hell just happened?” Bobby said, cutting through the tense silence that settled over the table. “Does she always react that badly to anyone asking her to, I dunno—participate in life?” 

Sam shook his head, contemplating the chipped edge of his plate. “Well, given what happened to her the night she met Dean, I’m sure she gets a little freaked out about saying yes to anything. The last time she said yes to go have some fun with someone was the worst night of her life, you know? And she’d only said yes to her sister; Hope barely knows Jody, and she’s never met Alex and Claire. I understand why she panicked. I think Dean does too.” Sam nodded toward the doorway Dean and Hope had disappeared through. 

Bobby’s glare softened. “Damn,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I completely forgot about that.” 

Sam shrugged. “They’ll work it out,” he said with a soft smile. “They seem to be getting better at, you know, actually talking to each other.” 

Jody snorted, laying her napkin on the table. “Well, I don’t know about that,” she said dubiously, “but they’re moving in the right direction at least. I’m gonna go see if I can help. If Dean wants to do what he’s planning, Hope has to agree to come with me, right?” 

“Has anybody told you that you’re awesome, Jody?” Sam asked, grinning at her as he picked up his burger again. 

“Not in the last five minutes,” Jody said, winking at Bobby and Sam as she disappeared out the door. Sam laughed, and Bobby was never more grateful for his full beard than at that moment, although he was afraid the heat from his cheeks might actually set it on fire. 

Dean was coming through the door as Jody reached the hallway and he smiled when he saw her. “Hope’s okay, she just asked for a minute to pull herself together.” 

“Do you think it would help if I talked to her?” Jody asked, glancing out to the porch. 

“Couldn’t hurt, I don’t think. I mean, logically she knows this invitation isn’t the same as what happened before, but—” 

“But logic doesn’t matter when it comes to trauma responses,” Jody finished for him. Dean tilted his head and gave her an odd look and Jody shrugged. “I read.” Dean patted Jody’s shoulder as he passed and Jody headed outside to find Hope gripping the porch railing and taking long, even breaths. 

“Hey,” Jody said softly, frowning at Hope’s visceral reaction to Jody’s voice. Jody leaned on the railing, mimicking Hope’s stance but keeping a respectable distance. 

“Hey,” Hope replied hoarsely, sniffing. “Sorry about—whatever that was in there. It’s just—” 

“You remembered the last time you said yes when you should’ve said no?” 

Hope’s head jerked up and she regarded Jody with narrowed eyes. “What do you know about it?” 

“Not much, but after you and Dean had that argument in front of everyone, Sam filled in some details and it’s not that hard to guess the rest,” Jody said, staring up at the sky as silence fell between them. “He blames himself, you know. Sam, I mean.” 

Hope frowned. “Blames himself for what? He didn’t tell those animals to do that to me and he damn sure didn’t beg me to go and then bail on me the minute we got there to get drunk with his friends.” Bitterness cut through Hope’s words like razor blades and Jody’s heart broke for her. 

“No, he didn’t,” Jody sighed, “but it was his idea for you and Dean to meet that night. When he saw what happened after—to both of you, he’s blamed himself for both yours and Dean’s pain ever since.” 

“But,” Hope’s frown deepened, “if I hadn’t met Dean—if they hadn’t been looking for me, I might’ve died that night. I don’t blame Sam for that, for any of it. How could I? Besides, if you believe the stories, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was that night or another, Dean and I would’ve met eventually.” 

Jody nodded, then patted Hope’s arm. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I do believe the stories. I don’t know you that well, but I’ve known Dean for a while, and he’s different now. Better, I think. Anyway, I didn’t just ask you to come with us because Dean’s trying to surprise you. In my book, anyone who can get a genuine laugh out of Dean Winchester is worth knowing, and I want to know you since we’re practically family at this point.” 

Family. That was a word Hope hadn’t used to describe anything or anyone since her mom died, and once her dad and Heather were gone, there was no one. Hope believed the night Dean showed up at her door begging for her to save Sam had been the beginning of the end of her life as she knew it, but what if it had just been the beginning of the life she was meant to live, and everything before was just a distraction? 

Here, Hope was surrounded by people who loved each other, and her by extension, and it didn’t seem to matter how she’d come into their lives, or that half of her family were monsters. There, Hope didn’t matter to anyone. Not really, anyway. She was Dr. Bennett, a highly skilled trauma surgeon with the emotional breadth of a fence post as far as any of her coworkers were concerned. The only person who truly seemed to give a damn when Hope disappeared from the hospital was Loretta. 

_Family don’t end in blood._ Dean told her that once, a long time ago, but at the time she hadn’t understood what it meant because she had nothing to compare it to. But now…

“Okay,” Hope said, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’d like that too.” Hope smiled, fighting back panicked tears. This time, saying yes would end differently. Hope trusted Dean, and there was no way that he’d be okay with going off and leaving Hope with someone he didn’t trust. Not after what happened with Crowley and the demons. 

“Great,” Jody said, gesturing toward the door, “now let’s get back inside and hope Dean hasn’t stolen the rest of our burgers.” 

“Pshh,” Hope grinned, “if he touched my burger he’ll be making me another with a fork sticking out of his hand.” She yanked open the screen door and went inside, Jody’s laughter echoing behind her as she followed Hope. No matter what, their little ragtag family was going to be alright, Jody thought. 

~~~~~ 

**_Two Days Later_ **

Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala as Hope emerged from Bobby’s house, carrying a small duffle bag. Jody honked as she rolled to a stop behind the car and Hope waved from the porch, bounding down the steps and tossing the bag into the bed of the truck next to the others. Dean held out his arms and Hope hugged him, breathing him in like she always did. Leather and cinnamon mingled together to create that heavenly scent she adored so much as she turned her face up to him for a kiss. No, she thought, that scent didn’t remind her of heaven anymore. It was home. 

“Ready?” Dean gazed down at Hope, his eyes soft and reminding her of the fields of Kentucky Bluegrass she and Heather played in as children. Hope nodded, kissing him again and feeling the unspoken ‘I love you’ on his lips. 

“Whatever it is you two are up to, please be careful,” Hope said, pointing between Dean and Sam. “I expect to see you guys in one piece in a couple of days.” 

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Sam quipped, rolling his eyes and grinning at Hope as he opened the Impala’s passenger door and leaned against the frame. Hope made a face and held up a good-natured middle finger, drawing a laugh from Sam. “Love you too, Hope,” he called, catching Dean’s eye as Hope climbed into Jody’s truck and waved at them. 

Dean grinned at Sam, a wide, boyish smile that Sam hadn’t seen in—he couldn’t even remember how long. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s get a move on. It’s a long drive to get where we’re going.” Dean slid into the driver seat and started the car as Sam did the same, regarding Dean with an odd expression. “What?” 

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” Sam said petulantly. “What the hell are you up to, Dean?” 

Dean smirked, his eyes glinting in the sun. “You’ll see.” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and staring out the window as Dean chuckled to himself, spinning the Impala’s tires on the gravel as he tore out of the driveway and headed for the southbound interstate. 


	23. Home (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay between updates, this chapter is a bit longer than the others as a small 'thanks for your patience' present. Enjoy!

Dean cranked up the radio as the first guitar riffs of a Metallica song blared through the stereo speakers, chuckling to himself as Sam startled awake, rubbing the side of his head where he'd banged it against the window glass. "Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"Bite me," Sam grumbled, yawning loudly as Dean chuckled. "So where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Just outside of Lawrence," Dean said, not taking his eyes off the road. The Impala's high beams on the blacktop did little to drive away the pitch darkness that surrounded them out on the interstate. 

"What?" Sam said, shaking his head in confusion. "Why?"

Dean glanced at Sam, frowning as he tried not to think about their last visit to Lawrence. "Because, Sam," Dean sighed, "We showed up and basically wrecked Hope's life. I thought maybe I could give her at least part of it back."

"Don't tell me you plan on going to her house?" Sam said, running a hand across his mouth, "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Of course I do," Dean retorted. "But it's worth it for Hope. We'll be in and out before anyone even knows we were here. Speaking of which—" Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Loretta's number. He'd managed to sneak a peek into Hope's new phone to get it, and he'd been communicating with Loretta for the last several days. He just hoped she'd keep her word now.

The phone rang twice, and Loretta answered, her voice gruff but not unkind. "Well if it isn't hurricane Winchester himself," she said, chuckling dryly. "What do you want this time?"

"We still on for tonight?" Dean replied, ignoring Sam's confused bitchface. 

"Hope with you?"

"No, she's staying with a friend for the weekend. It's just me and my brother, Sam."

"You know the deal, Winchester. I'm not agreeing to anything until you give me proof that she's okay. She hasn't texted or called me since the day you guys disappeared from the hospital."

"Meet me at Hope's house and I'll call her. She'll be on speaker and everything, but you gotta be quiet. This whole thing is a surprise."

"You swear?"

"Scout's honor," Dean replied, scraping his lip with his teeth as he stifled a smile. Sam narrowed his eyes and gave Dean a 'what the hell?' shrug, but thankfully stayed silent. Loretta said nothing for several moments, and Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing at it to make sure she hadn't hung up. 

"Fine," Loretta sighed. "I'm off work at eleven. Meet me there."

"Thanks Loretta, I owe you big time," Dean said as a broad smile split his face. 

"Damn right you do."

Dean ended the call, tossing his phone onto the dash as he glanced at Sam. "What?" Sam shook his head, staring straight ahead through the windshield. "What, Sam?"

"Nothing," Sam replied, "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I do, Sam," Dean replied, hoping his tone didn't give away his apprehension. "I promise."

~~~~~

Hope stared through the windshield of Jody's truck, ignoring the icy dread that pooled at the base of her spine. The woods around them were thick and in the pitch blackness beyond the headlight beams threatened to close in around them and swallow everything whole. They hadn't spoken much on the drive from Sioux Falls, and Hope worried her lip and wondered why exactly Jody agreed to let her spend the weekend with them. 

Jody glanced at Hope as she parked the truck and turned off the ignition. "Is everything okay? You've been quiet since we left Sioux Falls."

"Y-Yeah," Hope said, flashing a tight smile and tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. "I'm just nervous, I guess. Meeting new people isn't really my thing, you know? My sister was the social butterfly, not me."

"And yet—" Jody said, raising an eyebrow as one corner of her mouth twitched, "here you are. Things change, Hope. It's the one guarantee about life. Nothing ever stays the same. Come on, I'll introduce you." Jody slid out of the driver's seat and grabbed their bags out of the bed, heading for the cabin door. She paused at the bottom of the porch steps, glancing back at Hope. "You coming or what?"

Hope blew out a breath and opened the truck door, despite every nerve in her body screaming at her to stay in the truck. _No, I won't live the rest of my life afraid. If I continue to live in fear, then I should've died in that church._ "I'm coming," she muttered.

Jody gave her a wide smile as she pushed open the front door. "Alex? Claire? Are you here?"

Hope tried her best not to hide behind Jody as an ebony-haired young woman entered the room, followed by a young blonde woman with piercing blue eyes that bore an uncanny resemblance to Castiel. _Chalk that one up to the wall of weirdest coincidences ever._

"Hey Jody," the dark haired girl said, glancing at Hope and holding out her hand. "You must be Hope. I'm Alex, and Biker Barbie over there is Claire." Claire rolled her eyes, flipping Alex the bird as she took the bags from Jody and avoided her exasperated gaze. 

"Hi," Hope said, unsure of what else to say. "Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys this weekend. I hope it's not too much of an intrusion." 

"Not at all," Alex said, flashing a set of straight, white teeth. "Jody's great and all, but Claire can be a real pain in the ass." Alex dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and Claire shouted from the other room.

"I heard that!"

"I know! Calm down, drama queen. Nobody's keeping anything from you," Alex snarked over her shoulder. She grabbed Hope's elbow steering her toward the couch.

"So, Jody said you're a doctor," Alex motioned toward the couch as she curled up in a chair nearby. "Do you like it?"

"Well," Hope said, twisting her fingers in her lap, "I was a doctor—before, well, everything. A surgeon, actually."

"Wow, that's impressive," Alex said, her tone clearly giving away the awe in her words. "I bet that was a huge accomplishment. What's it like?" 

"Well—" Hope started, but Claire cut her off as she flopped down on the chair across from Alex. 

"Will ya leave the woman alone, Alex? She doesn't want to fill you in on all the gory details of her life that no one cares about but you. It's not her fault you're fascinated by all things gross." 

"Well, I'm sure it beats the hell out of being obsessed with all things that go 'boo'," Alex shot back, rolling her eyes so hard Hope was almost positive they might leave her head. 

"I-It's okay. Really," Hope said, holding her hands up in a calming gesture as she glanced between Alex and Claire. "I don't mind talking about it, but why are you so interested, Alex?"

"Because Little Miss Perfect GPA over there is trying to make up her mind about what to major in next fall," Claire said. "Seems like a waste of time if you ask me."

Hope turned her attention to Claire, catching the hint of some deeply hidden pain beneath the acidic bite of her tone. "Oh? And why's that?" 

"Because," Claire said, rolling her eyes again. "There are so many things that are more important than college."

"Like what?" Hope frowned, realizing she'd never stopped to ask herself that very question. At the time, nothing had been more important than finishing medical school, but when she looked back on her life, it wasn't hard to see that she'd been little more than a robot, going through the motions. The only time she could remember feeling truly alive was six years ago and the last few weeks. What did that say about the condition of her life's balance, really?

"Like saving the world," Claire said matter of factly. "Doing what Sam and Dean do. Hunting monsters and saving people."

"I see," Hope breathed, considering Claire's words. "There are far less dangerous ways to save the world, you know that right?"

"Save your breath," Jody said with a soft smile as she entered the room. "We've all tried to tell her that, but it doesn't do any good. Here." Jody held out a half-full wine glass and Hope accepted it gratefully. "You looked like you might need it."

"Definitely," Hope chuckled, nodding her head. "Thanks. So Alex, what did you want to know?"

~~~~~

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Hope's house ten minutes before eleven, forcing away the shudder that crawled up his spine as he glanced across the car toward the darkened windows of the empty house. Memories of the night Sam almost died at Heather's hand flashed across his memory, and he cleared his throat, trying to force himself to think of anything else.

Sam glanced over at Dean from the passenger seat, a worried frown creasing his brow. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Dean was thinking about as they waited for Loretta to show. The memories were foggy, but Sam had some recollection of the night Dean brought him here for Hope to save. It still bewildered him to know that there were so many incarnations of Hope that outright refused to help Sam the moment he needed it the most, and he wondered why this version of Hope was so wildly different. The answer didn't truly matter to him; what mattered was that Hope had given him the one thing everyone wishes for—more time. He didn't intend to squander a single second of it.

"You know, the night Heather took me—" Sam started, keeping a watchful eye out the window into the darkness, scanning the shadows for any sign of angels or any other threat. Dean held up his hand, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it, Sam. It doesn't matter now, what matters is that Hope saved you."

"No, Dean. It matters because I told you to take me there because of Cas," Sam said, avoiding Dean's gaze. Before Dean could say anything else, Sam went on. "Cas came to me in a dream right before we went to find Heather at the park that night. He told me something would happen and that Hope would be the solution. I didn't know what he meant, but it became obvious when I was lying on the table with blood pouring out of my insides."

"Sam—" Dean started, pressing his lips into a grim line before saying his next thought. "Why didn't you say anything before now? As if I don't have enough reasons to be angry with that son of a bitch. You could've died, Sam! Scratch that, you would've died. And Cas—Cas wasn't planning to lift a finger to stop it, even though he could've!"

"But I didn't die," Sam replied, his voice soft and contemplative. "Hope saved me, despite every instinct inside telling her to slam the door in your face. And then she took a blade to the heart for you. I don't think you or Cas give her enough credit for any of that. _Especially_ since it cost her everything to save us."

Dean heaved a sigh as he shook his head. "You're right, Sam. Which is part of the reason we're here."

"Why are we here, anyway?" Sam asked, watching headlights flood the narrow yard as Loretta parked her car in the driveway. 

"You'll see. Come on," Dean said, pushing open the Impala door and getting out of the car. Sam sighed, then followed Dean as he crossed the yard, headed toward the front door.

"Hey, Loretta," Dean said, giving Loretta a half-smile that would make any other woman melt. Loretta gave him an icy look, and he fished his phone out of his pocket. "Right. Calling Hope now." 

Dean dialed Hope's number, and it rang three times before she picked up. The sound of Alex and Claire arguing about what movie to watch faded into the background as Hope answered, and Dean assumed she was moving away from the noise. 

"Heya, sweetheart," Dean said with a small grin, pressing a finger to his lips for the others to stay quiet, "I hear you've met Alex and Claire. Miss me yet?"

Hope chuckled, and Dean's heart beat a little faster at the sound. The truth was, he'd missed Hope since the moment she'd stepped out of his arms and into Jody's truck, and he'd lost count of the times he'd thought about calling her on the drive to Lawrence. "Of course, you dork. Where are you?"

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched as he watched the confusion knit Loretta's brows and Dean's answering smirk. "Oh, we're at a truck stop just outside of Lincoln. We're right on schedule."

"And you're still not going to tell me where you're headed?" Hope said, hoping she didn't sound like a pouty child.

"Nope," Dean replied, popping the 'p' slightly as his grin widened. "Like I said, it's a surprise. We'll be back the day after tomorrow. I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you're alright hanging out with Jody and the girls."

Hope laughed. "Well—Jody's great. As for Alex and Claire—they remind me a lot of me and Heather right around the time we started high school; there's a ton of drama but underneath it all they would die for the other. Alex is fascinated by medicine, and once you get past Claire's prickly exterior she's pretty awesome."

"Yeah, she is," Dean replied. "She's been through a lot the last several years. Just do yourself a favor and don't mention Cas, alright?"

"Cas? Why?" The confusion in Hope's voice was clear, but Dean had a feeling her mind was already two or three steps ahead, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together.

"Cas's vessel was her father," Dean replied, avoiding Loretta's gaze. "He, uh, died when Cas took over his body permanently and she's still angry with Cas. There's more to the story and I'll tell you everything when we get back."

"Okay, sure," Hope said. Dean heard Alex calling for Hope to join them, and he smiled despite himself. 

"I'll let you get back to the girls," Dean said. "Relax and enjoy yourself, alright?"

Hope chuckled again, and Dean could picture her shaking her head as she did it. "I'll try. Have fun with Sam and whatever it is you're doing."

"Got it. I'll see you soon. Bye, Hope."

"Bye."

Dean ended the call, and Loretta stared at him, her dark eyes full of questions. Dean shrugged as Loretta huffed, unlocking the door to Hope's house and leading them inside. Once they entered, she closed the door and rounded on them. 

"Start talking," Loretta growled, pointing at Dean. "What the hell happened to Hope? They said she just disappeared out of the hospital and the authorities assumed she was dead. I knew better because she called me that day, but she sounded surprisingly well for someone who just had their aorta resected."

"It's a long story," Sam said, stepping between Loretta and Dean. "The main points are that Hope saved my life, Heather tried to kill Dean and Hope almost died because she jumped between them. Because she survived that attack, some very powerful beings are after her now and she's in hiding until we can figure out how to stop them from killing her."

"That explains practically nothing," Loretta snapped, turning away from them. "But I believe you. I've had several uptight beaurocrat types visit me asking questions since Hope disappeared. Thing is, I don't think they're from the government."

"They're not," Dean said quietly. "They're actually angels." 

Loretta's eyes went wide, and Sam nodded in agreement, giving her his patent-pending puppy dog face. She shook her head, taking a small step backward. "Angels?" she breathed. "But—"

"Look," Dean said gently. "There's not really time to explain everything. We need to get what we came for and get the hell out of here before the angels figure out we're here. And if anyone asks, you never saw us. Is everything ready?"

A low meow from the corner of the living room punctuated his question and Sam started toward the sound. He found Licorice in a pet carrier, glaring up at him with angry eyes that complained of betrayal and confusion. "Hey little guy, what are you doing locked up in there?"

"We're taking him back to Bobby's," Dean said from somewhere behind him as Sam crouched, sticking one long finger through the metal mesh to scratch the cat's ears. 

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Sam asked. "Bobby isn't a huge fan of cats. Does he know that's what we were here to do?"

"He knows, Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes and heaving an exasperated sigh as Sam regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Call him and ask if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," Sam said. "So all that plotting and secrecy was because you were coming to get Hope's cat?"

"Yeah," Dean said, the corners of his mouth twitching as color brightened his cheeks. "Have you figured out why Hope named her cat Licorice?"

Sam shook his head, confused. "No. I hadn't thought about it, really."

Dean picked up the carrier, holding it high near the side of his face as he stared at Sam. Sam glanced back and forth between Dean and Licorice, both staring back at him with wide, green eyes. "Oh my God," Sam said, chuckling to himself. "Do you think Hope did it on purpose?"

Dean shrugged, glancing at the couch and recalling the memory of the two of them sitting there on one of Hope's rare nights off work. They'd been watching some old black and white movie that he'd suggested, complete with movie snacks and whiskey, when he pulled a package of black licorice bites from his pocket. Hope told him he was gross, grabbing the Licorice out of his hands and inciting a game of half-drunk keep away.

It was a memory he thought of often in the years after, and time had done nothing to lessen its sharpness. He could still remember the glassy glint in her eye from too much whiskey and the tight leash he'd had to keep on himself to not kiss her silly when he'd finally been victorious, pinning her beneath him on the couch and taking his favorite candy back. 

"I don't know if she did or not, but the way she reacted when I asked about it says she might've," Dean said. He turned toward Loretta, who stood leaning against the door frame. 

"Is this everything?" he asked, gesturing toward the suitcases and bags stacked in the corner next to the cat carrier. 

"Yep," Loretta said, stepping forward and holding out a set of keys. "Here's her keys. House, car, everything."

Dean took the keys, glancing down as he closed his fingers around them. "Thanks, Loretta. I know you don't care for me, but this will make Hope happy."

"I know," Loretta replied. "Now, get this stuff loaded and get the hell outta here before those angels that are after Hope realize you're in town. You take care of my girl, Winchester, or I will hunt you down. Got it?"

Dean grinned, nodding as he tossed the keys to Sam. "Let's get this stuff loaded. Do you mind driving her car?"

"There's not a car in the driveway," Sam said, slightly bewildered. "Where is it?"

"In the garage," Loretta said with a knowing smile. "It was her mother's, and she left it to Hope. Hope hardly ever drove it since she walked back and forth to work, but it's one of her most prized possessions."

Sam glanced at Dean, who wiggled his eyebrows in barely contained excitement as he motioned for Sam to follow him through the kitchen. "Come on, Sammy. You gotta see this."

Sam shrugged, following Dean through the kitchen as he opened the door and flipped on the garage light. Dean grabbed the edge of the canvas tarp thrown haphazardly over the car. Sam's eyes went round and practically bugged out of his head as the tarp fell away, revealing a sleek, silver 1955 Porche 550 Spyder. 

"Is—" Sam said, swallowing hard as Dean grinned at him like the cat that just ate the canary. "Is that James Dean's Porsche?"

"Well, no," Dean said, running his hand along the side of the car. "Not _his_ Porche. This one was a replica used in some movie made about his life."

"Seriously?" Sam said, "How long have you known about this?" Dean's cheeks brightened, and he glanced away, trying to stifle the unbidden smile that curved his mouth. 

"Since almost the beginning," Dean said with a small shrug. "One of the times I was over here visiting while Hope's dad and Heather were gone, Hope was watching some old James Dean biography and I asked why she liked old movies so much. She told me about her mom, then showed me the car." Dean stared at the car, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"And?" Sam said, recognizing Dean's look. It was the same one he'd seen so many nights through dirty motel windows as Dean flipped through his old cell phone.

"And nothing," Dean said with a small sigh. "It's just one of the few good memories I have."

Sam nodded, not wanting to press harder. He'd known Hope and Dean had gotten extremely close before it all fell apart, and he knew there were memories Dean never mentioned. Sam supposed some things were just between two people. "Well then, let's get her stuff loaded and get back to Sioux Falls. I want to see the look on her face when she sees this."

Dean grinned as he pressed a button on the wall and the garage door rumbled to life. "I can't wait."

~~~~~

Hope stood in the center of the living room in Jody's cabin, glancing at the three sleeping women. Jody, Claire, and Alex had all fallen asleep during the last movie, and Hope moved around the space, covering them with blankets she'd found in the trunk that served as a coffee table. 

Too wired to sleep, she wandered into the kitchen, poking around under the sink until she found a box of trash bags. She opened one, then wandered around the space, picking up beer bottles, pizza boxes, and soda cans. Jody cracked one eye as Hope tied up the bag, disappearing through the doorway leading toward the kitchen.

Jody glanced down at the blanket half-covering her body with a small smile. _There's definitely more to her than meets the eye._ "Hope?" Jody said, pushing the blanket away as she followed Hope into the kitchen, finding her at the sink, washing the wine glasses. 

"Hey, Jody. I didn't mean to wake you," Hope replied, not looking up. She didn't want to talk about whatever it was that currently had her stomach churning in knots and making it impossible to sleep. It's next to impossible to talk about something there aren't words for. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd clean up a little bit."

Jody nodded, moving toward the coffee maker to start a fresh pot brewing. Hope reached for a towel and dried the wine glasses, hanging them gingerly back onto the carved wooden rack above the island as the coffee machine beeped, and Jody poured two cups of steaming black liquid. She held one out to Hope and nodded toward the table. 

Hope smiled, settling herself at the table across from Jody, who studied her thoughtfully as she sipped her coffee. "Is something bothering you, Hope? I know it's none of my business, but you seem, I don't know—different," Jody said. 

"I'm fine," Hope said, giving Jody a tight smile. "I've just had this weird feeling since I talked to Dean earlier. I think he lied to me about where he was, and I don't know what to think about that. Why would he lie to me after all we've been through?"

"He's not lying to hurt you Hope," Jody said softly. "He and Sam are on this trip _for_ you. Dean planned this surprise to show you how much he loves you. He didn't even tell Sam everything, which is saying a lot."

"So where did he go?" Hope said, taking a sip of the aromatic liquid lifeforce in the mug before her. 

"Lawrence," Jody said, shrugging. Hope sputtered, spraying coffee across the table in front of her. Jody smirked, reaching for the napkin dispenser in the center of the table.

"He did WHAT?!" Hope said, still coughing as she took the offered napkins and began wiping the table. "Why?"

Jody shrugged. "All he said was he wanted to give you part of your life back, and it was supposed to be a surprise." 

"So why are you telling me now?" Hope asked, tilting her head to the side as she studied Jody. "What makes you think I won't call him and give him a piece of my mind for being so idiotic and going back to that place? He could get himself killed!"

Jody regarded Hope with an even stare. "Why do you think he took Sam with him? He's smarter than you give him credit for, Hope."

"I never said he wasn't," Hope muttered, attempting to take another sip of her coffee. "It's just such a stupid thing to do. I should call him and tell him he's an idiot."

"You should," Jody said with a slight chuckle, "but you won't. Will you?"

Hope sighed, shaking her head slowly. In truth, regardless of what Dean's idea of giving her life back might mean, he'd been willing to walk straight into the lion's den to do something he thought might make her happy. No one had ever done anything like that for her, and at the moment, all she wanted to do was lock the two of them together in a room and show him exactly how much she appreciated the gesture.

"No, I won't," Hope said with a wistful smile. "God, I love that man." Hope leaned back in the chair, her face tilted toward the ceiling.

"He loves you too, you know," Jody said. "I've known him for several years, and I've never seen him like this. It's nice, actually. The last six years have been rough on him."

Hope nodded, pressing her lips together as she turned her gaze on Jody. "I know. I mean, it's been rough on me too." Jody nodded, her eyes full of understanding.

"I'm glad you two found your way back to each other," Jody said. "It gives hope to the rest of us."

"That's nice of you, Jody, but the truth is, it scares me. I mean, you heard what Bobby said about it. How much choice did Dean and I have in it, really? It scares me, knowing how much Dean hates being manipulated. What if he changes his mind?" Hope turned her mug between her hands, finding the soft scrape of the ceramic cup against the wooden tabletop oddly comforting.

"Hope," Jody said, leaning forward and folding her arms as she rested her elbows on the table. "Dean is stubborn, but he's past fighting against this particular destiny. It doesn't matter how much choice you had in finding each other. What matters is that the two of you are better together, and you both know that."

"Well," Hope sighed, "yes and no." 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Hope said, staring at the inside of her coffee cup. "I've struggled to keep my drinking under control since he came back into my life. I'm slipping, Jody. I can feel it. It's worse now that I don't have a job to go to every day. If I start down that road again…" Hope's voice trailed off as she shook her head sadly. "I might not come back this time."

"I understand," Jody said, looking thoughtful. "Have you guys talked about it?"

Hope snorted, shaking her head. "What do you think? I mean, he knows I struggle with it, but I don't think he realizes how much he contributes to it. He hands me glasses and I drink them without any thought, really. That's not his fault, drinking is the same as breathing to him, and it's up to me to say no. I've just always struggled to say that one little word to him, you know?"

"Most people struggle with that," Jody said, flashing a half-smile. "Myself included. But, one thing I learned while married to my husband. No matter what, relationships only work if you talk to each other—about everything, and that my dear, is next to impossible with those boys. They've got so much buried pain it would take several lifetimes to uncover all of it."

"Is that what keeps you and Bobby apart?" Hope asked, giving Jody a bemused raised eyebrow. Jody's cheeks brightened, and she took a drink from her cup, trying to hide her discomfort. 

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Jody said, avoiding Hope's gaze as she set the cup down. 

"Mm-hmm," Hope said, stifling a smile. "I'm not blind, Jody. I've seen the way you two look at each other."

"It's different for Bobby and I," Jody said, rubbing her thumb along the side of the cup. "We're not like you and Dean. Bobby already had the love of his life, and so did I. When I lost my husband, I knew I'd never feel anything even remotely close to what I had with him. I think Bobby feels the same way about Karen."

"And?" Hope said, shaking her head. "So you've both already had that epic love. That's great. It means that whatever the two of you have is not under that kind of pressure. You can just enjoy each other and whatever happens, happens. At least you both know it's not Fate, Destiny, or anything like that driving it."

"Maybe," Jody said, getting lost in thought. "But I'm not about to press it and lose the friendship we do have." She sighed, standing and taking her empty cup to the sink. "I agree with you though, and as far as I'm concerned whatever happens, happens. I'm content either way."

"That's all anyone can ask for, I think," Hope replied, placing her own cup in the sink. "Happiness is fleeting, and if you're not careful, you'll spend your entire life chasing it like a junkie chasing their next fix."

"You have no idea how right you are," Jody said, wrapping an arm around Hope's shoulders in a half-hug, and for the first time in six years, Hope didn't flinch involuntarily when someone other than Dean touched her. 

~~~~~

Gravel crunched beneath Baby's tires as it rolled into Bobby's driveway behind Hope's Porsche. Sam practically unfolded himself as he got out of the driver's seat, his hair windblown and his face flushed with barely contained excitement as Dean approached.

"Isn't she great?" Dean said, nodding toward the car.

"Awesome," Sam breathed. "Have you driven it?"

"Once," Dean said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he smiled at Sam.

"Please tell me you and Hope didn't—"

"What? No! Sam, Jesus!" Dean sputtered, unlocking the trunk of the Impala. "Hope and I weren't like that then."

"Wait—what?" Sam said. "You spent three months with her without sex? I always assumed—"

Dean gave Sam an incredulous look, shaking his head. "That was your first mistake, Sammy, assuming anything. And it's not to say I didn't _want_ to, but Hope wasn't in any shape for that, and given the way things turned out, it's the one thing I was always thankful for."

"I always knew Hope was special, but I had no idea," Sam said, shaking his head as he lifted an angry Licorice out of the Impala's front seat. 

"Yeah, well, it's not a big deal," Dean said, his tone conveying that it was indeed a huge deal. Sam didn't push, knowing his brother's propensity to withdraw from serious conversations involving those pesky things normal human beings referred to as _feelings._

~~~~~

Hope sucked in a breath as Jody rolled into the driveway of Singer's Auto Salvage as the midafternoon sun glinted off her Porsche's chrome. "Oh, my god," Hope said, one hand covering her mouth. "He didn't."

"It looks like he did," Jody said with an incredulous smile. Hope really was full of surprises. Hope didn't hear her though; she'd already sprung from the truck and closed the distance between the truck and where Dean stood, leaping into his arms, and squeezing him so hard he couldn't breathe. Hope captured his mouth in a kiss so hungry and furious Jody thought she might need to turn a hose on the two of them. 

Sam cleared his throat, and Hope reluctantly released her grip on Dean, leaving him breathless as she turned toward Sam. "Judging by that reaction, I'd say you liked the surprise," Sam said, scraping his teeth along his lip as he grinned at Hope. 

"Oh, my God. You have no idea," Hope replied, running her hand along the trunk of the car in a gesture reserved only for a lover. "I'd kiss you too if I could, Sam. How did you guys get to it?"

"Loretta," Dean said, finally regaining the use of his voice. "I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, but I got her number from your phone and we've been planning this for a couple of weeks now."

"That explains the random phone call," Hope said, closing her eyes. Her face contorted into a look of indignation as she opened her eyes and stared at Dean. "You lied to me, about where you were, I mean." Her voice was low, almost a growl, and Dean stared at her in confusion. 

"Well, yeah," Dean said, shaking his head. "It wouldn't have been a surprise if I hadn't."

"Can we talk—alone?" Hope said, grabbing Dean's hand and stomping off toward the house.

Sam watched Hope and Dean retreat inside the house, frowning in confusion. Jody chuckled, standing beside Sam and shaking her head as she stuck a finger through Licorice's carrier. The cat sniffed them, letting out a pleading mewl. 

"What just happened?" Sam said, shaking his head. "Dean was sure she'd be happy."

Jody snorted, chuckling despite herself. "She is. Trust me, Sam. There isn't much talking going on inside that house right now." 

Understanding dawned across Sam's face, followed instantly by a shudder. "Ugh. That's an image I didn't need." 

Jody snorted, gesturing toward the car. "Come on, let's get this stuff unloaded."

~~~~~

"Hope, I—" Dean started as Hope dragged him through the guest room door, slamming the door behind them and flipping the lock. Before he could get any more words out, Hope's mouth crashed into his. He froze, unsure of what the hell was happening, and then decided to just roll with it. He returned the kiss, the sweet taste of red wine teasing his taste buds as his tongue found hers. A low growl escaped her as Hope buried her fingers in his hair, and he decided right then that Fate or no Fate, he'd spend the rest of his life with her.

Dean broke the kiss, leaving a trail of kisses along Hope's neck as he fought to control his insatiable need to be with her. She smelled faintly of Lavender and Honeysuckle, an intoxicating combination that sent him straight back in time to the night in Hope's garage as they made out in the car. He grabbed the end of her shirt, pulling away far enough to stare into Hope's eyes as he pulled it over her head. "What are we doing?"

"What the hell does it look like?" Hope said with a mischievous smile. "You said you'd kiss me as many times as I needed, remember? So shut the hell up and prove it, big man."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Dean replied, unclasping Hope's bra with two fingers and slipping the strap off one shoulder, following it with a kiss, and Hope inhaled sharply as his stubble tickled her collarbone. Overwhelmed with her need for him, Hope grabbed Dean's face with both hands and hungrily kissed him again as she steered them toward the bed.

One frenzied hour later, Hope and Dean laid wrapped in each other's arms, tangled in a mass of clothing and sheets. Hope planted a kiss on Dean's chest, right below the anti-possession tattoo that matched her own. She glanced up, studying the profile of Dean's face. "I love you, so much," Hope whispered, pressing her cheek against the bare skin of his chest as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart and realizing just how close she'd come to never hearing it again. 

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Hope's head, smiling as he inhaled the scent of her. "I love you too, Hope. More than you know."

"I think I have an idea," Hope said against his chest, the warmth of her breath sending goosebumps along his skin as she pressed her lips against him again. "Did you really go all the way to Lawrence just to bring me my mother's car?" Hope glanced up at Dean, and when he looked at her, the love he saw reflecting back at him was almost too much. He'd done nothing in his life to deserve Hope, and yet, here she was. 

"Well, yeah," he said. "But the car wasn't the only thing we brought back. There were a few other things too."

"Like what?"

Dean winked at her, untangling himself from her embrace. He stood up, pulling on his jeans and smiling down at her as she stretched like a contented cat across the rumpled sheets. "I'll show you. Be right back."

He disappeared out the door, leaving it open just a crack. Hope sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet across her chest as she tried to listen for anything beyond the door. Seconds later, the familiar jingle of a tiny bell jangled as Licorice entered the room, leaping up on the bed. Dean entered the room as Hope let out a soft squeal of delight, scooping the furry creature into her arms and staring up at Dean with eyes full of devotion. 

"Oh, my god," Hope said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy. "Dean, I—" she buried her nose in Licorice's fur, a tear slipping from beneath her lashes, "Thank you, so, so, much."

"You're welcome," Dean said, crossing the room and positioning himself on the bed next to her. He put a hand on Hope's cheek, and she returned the gesture, then pressed her fingers to the back of his neck and pulled him into another hungry kiss. As Hope released her grip, Dean struggled to catch and keep his breath as his heart pounded wildly behind his ribs. "If this is your way of thanking me, I'll be more than happy to go back for more of your stuff."

Hope grinned at him, shaking her head as she stared into his eyes. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Maybe," He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "But I'm adorable and you love me."

"That I do, Dean Winchester," Hope said, stroking Licorice's sleek, ebony fur. "That I do."


	24. Angel with a Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns, and Hope and Dean come to an understanding.

_**One month later** _

One of the phones on the kitchen wall jangled, startling Hope and sending the Egyptian mythology book she'd been staring at crashing to the floor. "Damn it," Hope muttered, looking around as the phone rang again. Sam, Dean, and Bobby had gone to town on a supply run, leaving her with strict instructions to not leave the house. Hope resented being treated like a child but nodded and smiled as the left, muttering under her breath the whole time. She sighed, unfolding herself from the chair she'd been draped across, picking up the book and tossing it onto Bobby's desk as she crossed the room to answer the ringing phone. 

Hope's hand trembled slightly as she picked up the receiver labeled _Bobby_ in black marker. The caller ID number was blocked, and Hope wasn't sure she should even answer it. "H-Hello?"

"Hope?" the voice on the other end crackled. "Hope, is that you?"

Hope frowned, pulling the receiver away from her head to stare at it for a moment. The voice sounded familiar, yet it was garbled and distorted, like a slightly out of tune radio station. "Who is this?"

"It's Castiel. Can you hear me?"

Hope's eyes widened, and she gripped the receiver tighter. "Castiel? Where are you?" she said, swallowing hard. "Where have you been? It's been weeks since you've disappeared!"

"I-I'm not sure where I am. I was held captive somewhere, but I managed to escape and I woke up in a hospital bed," Castiel said.

"Well, why do you just do that whooshy appearing thing you do and zap yourself over here?" Hope asked, not understanding why an angel would need to go to the hospital. 

"I, uh, can't do that," Castiel replied. "My grace—it's gone. I'm human now." 

Hope coughed, nearly dropping the phone as she sputtered and tried to make sense of Castiel's words. "Oh shit, Cas. Really? I'm sorry. What can I do to help?"

"Sam and Dean aren't answering their phones, do you know where they are? I'm worried," Cas said, not answering Hope's question.

"They're fine," Hope replied, shaking her head. Really? Castiel lost his grace, and he's more worried about Sam and Dean? Struck with an idea, she grabbed her phone and the atlas off Bobby's desk, opening the pages across the kitchen table. "Castiel? I need you to listen to me very carefully. Look around the room. Do you see anything that could tell you what hospital you're at? If you can get me a name, I can figure out where you are and get you back here."

"Uh," Castiel said, breathing heavily into the phone. _Cracked or broken ribs—not a good sign._ "I can see the map just outside the elevator—Unitypoint Health, Trinity Regional Medical Center."

"Good, Cas. That's great," Hope breathed, cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she typed furiously into the search bar of her cell phone. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the results, then flipped to the right page on the atlas. "Okay, it looks like you're in Fort Dodge, Iowa. Do you know how long you've been there?"

"A few days, I think," Castiel said. Hope heard the ragged breath as he inhaled and had a clear image in her mind as he hissed in pain while he tried to move.

"Okay, Cas. It sounds like you have some broken ribs. Try not to move too much. You're about three hours from here, so I'm going to hang up and head your way. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You shouldn't come alone, Hope. It's too dangerous," Cas replied. "Please."

"Castiel, you're hurt and alone. I'm coming. You saved my life, let me return the favor, alright? I can take care of myself, and I'll handle Sam and Dean. I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Alright," Castiel said, his tone resigned. "Just—be careful."

"Always," Hope replied with a small smile. "Bye, Cas." Hope hung up the phone, picking up the small duffle bag of weapons Bobby had tossed to her before they left and slinging it over her shoulder as she scribbled a note for Sam and Dean on the pad next to the phone. No way was she going to risk calling either of them before she left, they'd just insist on her staying put and them going. Dean was overprotective naturally; no matter how many times they sparred or how much target practice Hope indulged in, he wouldn't listen when she told him she could take care of herself. 

Hope tossed the duffle in the trunk of the Porsche, then slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, smiling softly at the way it still purred. She hadn't driven it in months now, and God, how she missed it. She glanced at the atlas, then pulled out of the salvage yard driveway, slinging a wave of gravel behind her as she raced for the interstate. 

~~~~~

Dean's blood turned to ice as he rolled up to Bobby's house and saw Hope's car gone. His jaw muscles twitched as he got out of the Impala and slammed the door hard enough to shake the whole car. Sam frowned, climbing out of the car himself and glancing around the salvage yard in confusion. 

Dean stomped up the steps to the house, waves of fury rolling off him like tsunamis, and Sam watched from a safe distance, just in case Dean's head exploded. Sam wondered when something like this would happen; Dean was acting so much like John when it came to Hope that it was only a matter of time before she rebelled. 

"Hope?" Dean yelled down the hallway, knowing full well she wasn't there. "Where the hell did you go?" 

"I don't think the walls are gonna answer you, son," Bobby said, entering the house behind Dean. He headed toward the kitchen with an armload of groceries, setting them down on the table and grabbing the note Hope had pinned above the phones. "This might though."

Dean took the slip of paper from Bobby with trembling fingers, scanning the words three times before everything sank in.

_Dean,_

_Cas called. He's in the hospital, and I'm on my way to get him. I tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. I'll be back soon._

_Love,_

_H_

Sam held out his hand, gesturing for the note, and Dean wadded it up and threw it at him, then stomped from the kitchen without a word. Sam smoothed out the paper, a slight smile curving one corner of his mouth as he read Hope's scrawling script. He tossed the paper onto the kitchen table as the screen door slammed shut and he hurried outside to find Dean. 

He found him in the garage, cleaning tools with an oily rag and muttering curses to himself. Sam approached cautiously, like a zookeeper trying to keep a caged animal calm. "Dean—"

"Don't, Sam—" Dean snapped, gripping a wrench in his hand like he was about to launch it at Sam's head. "Just don't."

Sam held up his hands, leaning against a metal barstool. "Fine, I won't. I'm just going to sit here and keep an eye on you so you don't do anything stupid."

Dean glared at him, wiping the wrench angrily and tossing it into the toolbox drawer. He slammed the drawer closed, then picked up another from the table in front of him. "Dammit! What the hell was she thinking? Does she have any idea how much danger she put herself into? Why didn't she wait for us? We could've gone after him and left her here where it's safe!"

"Why do you think, Dean?" Sam scoffed, glaring back at him. Dean turned his murderous glare on Sam, who shrugged. "Right. I said I wasn't going to say anything. Guess what? I lied. Now you get to listen. You're smothering her. In your quest to keep her safe and protected, you've become just like Dad."

"What's so bad about that?" Dean snapped. "It kept us safe growing up."

"Yeah, it did," Sam replied, running a hand across his chin. "But we were kids, Dean. Hope is a grown woman who's been on her own for a long time. She can take care of herself."

"No, she can't, Sam!" Dean bellowed. "She doesn't know the first thing about this life or how dangerous it is!"

"Oh my God," Sam sighed in exasperation. "Do you even hear yourself? Of course she can take care of herself, Dean! I've seen you guys sparring in the yard, and I've watched the target practice that you insist she does. She's just as good or better than you most of the time. Trust me, that girl can take care of herself."

"Until she freezes and gets herself killed," Dean grumbled. "It's one thing to spar or shoot at targets, it's another to be in an actual life and death situation!"

Sam pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, searching for the right words to make Dean understand. "Look, Dean, I get that you don't want anything to happen to her. That's completely understandable. The problem is, there's something coming and keeping her out of it is going to be impossible, when it was her choice to open that door. That alone put her right smack in the middle of everything, and all you're going to do by trying to sideline her is lose her forever. Don't you get that?"

"I can't do what needs to be done if I'm worried about her!" Dean yelled, turning his back to Sam and pressing his hands flat against the workbench in front of him. "It's better if she stays out of it and safe."

"Better for who, Dean?" Sam asked, his voice low and even. "Certainly not her. It's not even better for you. Not really. Easier maybe, but not better. Honestly Dean, having someone like Hope watching our backs wouldn't be so bad."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious where she learned how to move like that?" Dean asked. "She's a doctor, for God sake, not an assassin!"

Sam shrugged, glancing away. "Maybe a little at first, but that's what the lore books are for. I found the answer weeks ago. If you bothered to pick up a book you'd know too."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment, then spread his hands wide. "You wanna share with the class, Sam?"

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the stool. "According to the rest of that book about mirrored souls Bobby was reading, once the two halves connect, the souls act as a memory bank, sorting and storing all the memories from each lifetime. The memories of all past incarnations are stored in the subconscious, and usually they are only accessed as dreams, easily chalked up to just that."

"English, Sam!"

Sam snorted, running a hand across his mouth as he shook his head. "Basically, if i had to venture a guess, I'd say that in some past iteration of Hope's life with you," he paused, clearing his throat and looking extremely uncomfortable, "she was a hunter too."

"That's not possible," Dean stated, shaking his head. "I would've never agreed to something like that!"

Sam shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Have you met Hope? I really don't think you would've had much say in the matter, do you?"

Dean growled, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "What's your point, Sam?"

Sam's eyes lit up with suppressed amusement. _Mission accomplished._ "My point is that Hope _can_ and _will_ take care of herself, you just have to back off and _let_ her. Her and Cas will be fine, and they'll be back before you know it. Just—" Sam paused, giving Dean a pointed look. "Try not to rip her head off when she does get back, alright?"

"No promises," Dean snorted, dropping the last of the tools into the toolbox. Sam had an uneasy feeling, and he hoped that he was wrong about why, but there was no sense in worrying about it right now. He understood why Hope didn't leave any clues about where she was headed, but it would be almost impossible to find her in time if something were to go wrong. 

~~~~~

The Porsche tires squealed slightly as Hope veered into a parking space at Trinity Regional Medical Center. She bounded from the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the trunk and slung it over one shoulder, then jogged toward the entrance. 

"Hi," Hope said, smiling sweetly to the clerk at the lobby desk. "A friend of mine was admitted a few days ago. His name is Castiel. Can you tell me what floor he's on?"

"You got a last name, honey?" the clerk eyed Hope with suspicion, and Hope gave her a thin-lipped smile as she wracked her brain. 

"Uh, Novak," Hope said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. The clerk rolled her eyes and tapped on the keyboard.

"Fifth floor. Room 503," the clerk said, pointing toward the elevators. Hope nodded, shifting the weight of the bag and loping toward them. She pressed the button impatiently, glancing around the lobby on the lookout for any type of danger. The elevator doors dinged and Hope jumped inside, smashing the button. 

Uneasiness clawed at her spine as the elevator climbed toward its destination, and Hope took deep breaths to ignore it. Her phone vibrated, and a stab of guilt went through her heart as she fished it out of her pocket. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Sam's name on the caller ID. 

"Hey, Sam," Hope said, pressing the phone to her ear. "What's up?"

"What's up? Really?" Sam said chuckling. Hope bit her lip, staring at the elevator roof as she braced herself for what came next.

"Touche," Hope said. "So, on a scale of one to any Michael Bay movie, how bad did Dean's head explode?"

"Um, I talked him down before it happened, but I'd say it was gonna be _Independence Day_ scale," Sam said. 

Hope closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Emmerich? Really? Jesus," she chuckled. "Guess I owe you one."

"Yep," Sam said. "You can repay me by at least telling me where you are. I've got a bad feeling, Hope. I haven't mentioned it to Dean, because I want to believe you'll be alright and if I tell him he'll just want to come after you."

"Fort Dodge, Iowa," Hope said, switching the phone to her other ear as the elevator doors dinged open. "There's something else, Sam."

"What?"

"Castiel says he's human. His grace is gone," Hope said, following the signs toward Castiel's room. "Something bad happened to him, Sam." Sam was silent for a few moments, and Hope paused outside of Castiel's room. "Sam? Are you there?"

"I'm here," Sam breathed. "Okay, here's the deal. If he's human, the angels can't track him through angel radio anymore, which means they're looking for him the old fashioned way. He was probably held captive somewhere nearby, so here's what I want you to do. I'm gonna text you an address; you get Cas outta there and you haul ass to it. Do you understand? Dean and I will meet you there."

"Alright," Hope whispered, glancing left and right down the hallway. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet… Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she pulled it away from her ear to read the message. Montana? Hope put the phone back to her ear. "Are you sure, Sam? That's like a twenty hour drive and Castiel is going to need medical supplies."

"Dean and I will worry about that. You just get him there," Sam commanded. "Got it?"

"Understood. See you soon, Sam."

"Hope?" Sam said, the worry in his voice evident even over the phone. "Be careful. Let's not prove Dean right, okay?"

Hope chuckled, shaking her head. "I got this, Sam. Trust me."

"I do. Bye, Hope." Hope ended the call, shoving the phone back into her pocket and taking a deep breath as she pushed open the door. 

"Castiel?" Hope whispered as she tiptoed into the room. Castiel's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked them twice to focus on her. His face was covered in cuts, and one cheek was severely swollen and covered in bruises, all in various stages of healing. "Oh my God, Cas! Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Castiel grunted, trying to sit up straighter. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, Cas," Hope said, moving to the bed to examine him. "It _does_ matter. You've been gone for weeks! And I'm fine. Better than fine, actually, but we can talk about this later. We have to get you out of here. Sam thinks they'll be looking for you. Can you walk?"

"Barely," Castiel said, groaning as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and reached for his clothes. "But, I'll manage. Thank you, Hope."

"Don't thank me yet," Hope said, pulling a silver angel blade from the duffle bag and gripping it tightly in one hand as she kept watch through the slightly open door. "You can thank me when we get to where we're going by keeping Dean from going nuclear on me."

A man and a woman stood at the nurse's station, dressed in tailored suits speaking in tones too low for Hope to hear. Angels—or demons, she wondered. Her blood ran cold when the nurse pointed directly toward Castiel's room and the two people started down the hallway in her direction. "Change of plans, Cas," Hope whispered, dropping her bag and kicking it under the bed. "We've got company."

"How many?"

"Two—a man and a woman," Hope replied, yanking the sheet from the bed and slicing it with the blade. Castiel watched her, a confused frown on his face. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, fascinated by her swift movements. This was definitely not the same Hope he'd brought back from the brink of death. What had Sam and Dean done to her?

"Just trust me," Hope replied, slightly breathless as she crouched in the shadows behind the door. "Do you have a blade?" Castiel shook his head, glancing away from her, almost in shame. Hope shrugged, tossing him the blade. "Don't worry about it. Here, take this one."

"What are you going to use?" Castiel asked, his frown deepening.

"This," Hope said, holding up a strip of the sheet. "Please, Cas, just trust me, okay. I've done this before." What did she mean she'd done this before? Castiel shook his head, his thoughts cut short by the door creaking open. 

"Hello, Castiel," the woman said, standing between Hope and Castiel. "Did you _really_ think you'd be able to escape us?" She took a menacing step toward the bed, not noticing Hope crouched in the shadows. 

"Where are your precious human pets now, Castiel?" the man growled, standing next to the woman and forming a wall between the door and Castiel. "You disobeyed, and the mud monkeys you fell out of heaven's graces for left you here to _die_. That's too bad."

"You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Armaros," Castiel growled, staring the man down with a piercing blue gaze. 

In a flutter of movement, Hope leaped from her hiding place, climbing Armaros like a tree and wrapping the sheet around his head, twisting the ends around one fist as Armaros flailed around, grunting and clutching at his throat. "It's funny," Hope groaned as she clung to the angel's back like she was riding a mechanical bull, watching with a slight gleam in her eyes as the man's face turned several shades of purple. "No matter which lifetime, you asshats always forget that even though _angels_ don't need to breathe, the human vessels still do."

The woman lurched toward Hope, trying to free Armaros from Hope's sheet as Castiel rose from the bed. Armaros spun, sending Hope's elbow into the woman's face. The woman stumbled backward into Castiel as he gripped her shoulder and drove the angel blade into her back all the way to the hilt. A brilliant flash of light filled the room, and Hope shut her eyes against it, loosening her grip in surprise. It was all the advantage Armaros needed, and he grabbed Hope by the hair, flinging her over his shoulder and sending her sliding across the floor. 

"You sniveling, pathetic, waste of life. You are no match for me," Armaros growled, advancing on Hope as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. He kicked her in the side, and the air rushed from her lungs. Hope grunted, hearing the crack of her ribs and the searing pain that spread from the impact like wildfire. For a moment, Hope didn't understand what the hell she was doing. She was a doctor, for God's sake! Getting her ass kicked by an angel wasn't exactly on her daily to-do list, and yet, Hope had never felt more alive for as long as she could remember. 

Hope stumbled to her feet, glancing behind Armaros to see Castiel give her a small nod as she twisted the sheet in her hands. Hope rolled her shoulders, readying herself for another fight. Armaros sneered at Hope, his fist striking out almost faster than she could see. Hope ducked and spun, tangling the sheet around his fist and planting an elbow in his face, sending him stumbling backward. "Fuck you, dickbag," Hope spat. 

Armaros growled, grabbing a fistful of Hope's hair and slamming her against the wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her forehead made contact with the painted brick wall. A trickle of blood dripped into her right eye as he spun her around, wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing as he lifted her above his head. "I told you, mud monkey, you're no match for me."

"Stop—" Hope wheezed, slamming her knee into his chest. He sputtered, loosening his grip on her throat and letting her fall to the floor. "Talking." She coughed, ducking the punch aimed at her head. The brick cracked where her head had been, sending chips hurtling in all directions. Armaros grunted, picking her up by the throat again. 

Castiel grabbed Armaros by the shoulder, driving the angel blade between his shoulder blades. Armaros' eyes went wide as a blinding light filled the room as he dropped Hope, and she fell to her knees, wheezing. "Hope! Close your eyes! Do it now!" Castiel cried.

Without hesitating, Hope squeezed her eyes closed and curled into a ball on the floor, shielding her face with her arms. A few moments later, she felt a hand on her shoulder and peeked up a Castiel. "Is it over?" Castiel nodded, staring at their handiwork. 

"Yes, but we need to leave. Now." Castiel reached under the bed with a slight grunt, sliding the duffle bag to Hope. "It won't take long for the others to figure out what happened here."

Hope nodded, ignoring the searing pain in her throat as she stood up and slung the bag over her shoulder. She inhaled through a hiss of pain as her cracked ribs limited how fast she could move. "This way," she said, leading Castiel out of the room and around a corner as hospital staff flooded into the room. 

Once they were safe in the stairwell, Hope dropped the bag and unzipped it, tossing Castiel a sawed-off shotgun, grabbing another for herself. He glanced from it to Hope and back again. Hope shrugged, zipping the bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Just in case. You know how to use one of those?" Hope asked.

"Not really. I haven't really need to," Castiel said, examining the weapon as Hope started down the steps. "I see Dean has been trianing you. Although it seems odd that you've gotten so skilled in a few short weeks."

Hope made a face but said nothing; she just shrugged and kept moving forward. "It's not a big deal, Castiel. Let's keep moving." Castiel stared at the back of Hope's head with narrowed eyes, thinking that yes, it actually was a huge deal. 

Castiel and Hope managed to sneak past three more angels and two security guards before reaching her car and tearing out of the parking lot like the whole building might explode behind them. When they were safely on the interstate headed toward Montana, Castiel glanced over at her, studying her profile in the setting sun. 

"What?" Hope asked, feeling Castiel's eyes on her. She didn't look at him, gripping the steering wheel tighter and ignoring the roaring thud in her head. 

"Why did you risk Dean's anger to come for me, Hope?" Castiel asked quietly. "You knew how he'd react. Why didn't you wait for him?"

"Cas—" Hope started, shaking her head as she glanced at him. "Can I call you that? I know Sam and Dean do, but if you'd rather me not, that's fine." Castiel nodded, gesturing for her to continue. Hope cleared her throat and started again.

"I didn't wait for Dean because as much as I love him, and God knows I do, he's driving me crazy. He constantly wants me to spar with him or shoot at targets, but he freaks out if anyting I do has the least little bit of danger involved. I needed a break," Hope sighed. "And I needed to know for sure I could take care of myself—and so did he."

Castiel nodded, staring thoughtfully out the windshield as the wind whipped his hair. "I understand. But, tell me, what did you mean earlier when you said you'd done this before?"

Hope closed her eyes for a moment, blowing a breath out through her nose. "This is gonna sound crazy, Cas. I haven't even told Sam or Dean, but I have these dreams sometimes, and I think they're actually memories. I had one the other night about a similar fight. The only difference was that it wasn't you I was saving, it was Dean. But, when I stepped into that room I had such a overwhelming feeling of deja vu, and it was like I knew exactly what I needed to do."

"That's not crazy, Hope," Castiel said. "Your memories of your past lives are slowly being unlocked." Castiel gave her a soft smile. "You forget, I've seen them all."

"Cas, how did I go from mild-mannered doctor to ninja assassin in my other lives?" Hope said, shaking her head. "It takes years of training to do what I did in there, and it was just as easy as breathing." Her breath hitched against her cracked ribs, and she flashed an ironic smile. "Well, almost."

"There was one lifetime," Castiel said, pressing his lips together, "you weren't a doctor. You were a hunter, like Sam and Dean. You were raised in the life by your mother and the two of you were taking out entire vampire nests together by the time you were thirteen." 

Hope glanced at Castiel, who wore the wistful look of someone recalling a memory. "What about my dad and sister? Where they in that life?"

Castiel's face fell, and he shook his head. "No. It was just the two of you." He wasn't about to tell Hope that her mother killed her father in that life when she found out he was a Kitsune and her sister was never born. "The important thing is, you know how to defend yourself and you are getting better at drawing upon that knowledge, no matter how buried it may be."

"I just wish I knew this shit six years ago," Hope muttered, turning up the radio volume as an indication she didn't want to talk anymore.

~~~~~

"Dammit, Sam, where is she?" Dean demanded as he flipped on the lights to Rufus's cabin. The place had been deserted for years, and a thick layer of dust settled on every available surface. Dean wrinkled his nose, fighting back a sneeze. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, dropping his duffle bag on the floor and sending clouds of dust floating through the air.

"She'll be here, Dean. If you're that worried, just call her," Sam said, rolling his eyes as he opened windows, letting in the early morning light. Convincing Dean to get his ass in the car had been easier than Sam thought it would be. Still, he'd spent the last sixteen hours practically drowning in the waves of fury that rolled off Dean nonstop, relentlessly crashing against him. "She answered when I called."

"No," Dean groused, yanking the canvas tarps off the furniture. He wadded them up loosely, carrying them out back to the clothesline to hang up. He picked up a stick he'd found nearby and started beating the dust out of the tarps to constructively rid himself of the rage threatening to boil over at any moment.

Why had she left without telling him? The question had been repeating on a loop since he'd found her gone, growing more persistent when he found out Sam had spoken to her. His own stubborn pride kept him from calling her, and he'd told himself that even if she called him, there was no way in hell he would answer. He chuckled sardonically to himself at how petty and juvenile he was. _This is why she hasn't called. She's tired of your shit already._ Dean let out a low growl, renewing his efforts on the tarps.

Sam watched Dean from the back steps, shaking his head. "Dean, I think the tarps have had enough."

"Maybe," Dean grunted, hitting them again. "But I haven't."

"Whatever, man. If this is what keeps you from saying something stupid when she gets here, beat the damn thing to shreds," Sam said, turning to go back into the house.

Dean stopped mid-swing, dropping the stick. He stood still, sweat streaming down the sides of his face, his chest heaving with the effort. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did she talk to you and not me?" Dean's voice was low, and Sam almost didn't hear him. He walked down the stairs and stood next to Dean, staring out across hills behind the house. 

"Dean," Sam started, his tone thoughtful, "it's simple, really. She doesn't love me like she does you."

"What? That doesn't make sense!"

"It does, though. Think about how you reacted when you found her gone, Dean."

"She left without saying anything! I never would've done that to her!"

"Really?" Sam said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "Be that as it may, if she _had_ said something, how would you have reacted?" Sam paused, letting the words sink in. "Don't answer, just think about it. You don't trust her, Dean. This was coming sooner or later, it just so happened to be now."

Dean scowled, staring out across the hills. Sam was right, once again. He usually was, though, and Dean wondered for a moment if he'd made a mistake getting this close to Hope. He had no idea how to really navigate a relationship, and he was definitely used to having things his own way. Hope challenged him in ways he hadn't even contemplated, and Sam seemed to be the only voice of reason in a relationship that was supposed to be only two people. He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again and bolted around the side of the cabin as the sound of Hope's car echoed through the trees.

"Dean," Sam called after Dean's disappearing form. "Don't be stupid." He sighed, jogging around the corner behind Dean. "Dammit," he muttered, leaning against the front porch railing as Hope climbed out of the car, stumbling slightly. She was clearly injured, and Sam watched closely as Dean's expression changed from fury to concern in an instant. Sam crossed the distance between where he stood and the car, helping Cas get out of the passenger seat as Dean rushed to help Hope. 

The four of them made their way into the cabin, Dean settling Hope into a chair and Sam laying Cas across the couch. Hope gave Sam a thin smile, but she avoided Dean's fiery glare. Sam nodded, then headed toward the kitchen, patting Dean on the shoulder and giving him a pointed look. 

"What the hell were you thinking, Hope?" Dean said, running a hand across his mouth as he turned away from her. "If I'd known you would go running off the first chance you got I would've left your fucking car in Lawrence! Seriously?"

Hope stared at Dean, counting to ten in her head. She said nothing, watching him with narrowed eyes as he paced the length of the room. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know," Hope said in a low voice. "Are you done ranting like a lunatic yet?"

Dean growled, running a hand through his hair, then down his face. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and he was suddenly more exhausted than he had been in a long time. Silence fell across the room, the tension thickening with each moment that passed. Dean turned, studying Hope. Her face and throat were bruised, and her ribs were clearly cracked. He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to remember what Sam said. 

"Will you at least tell me what the hell happened?"

"Hope saved my life. That's what happened," Castiel said from his spot on the couch. His eyes were closed and his breathing slightly labored, but as far as Hope could tell, he was in better condition than her at the moment. "After I escaped, the angels that held me captive sent more to the hospital to finish the job. In my weakened state, there was no way I could've taken them both on alone, Dean."

"If she'd called us, we would've come for you, Cas," Dean said, his brows knitting as he stared at the angel. "You know that."

"I tried to call you myself, Dean," Castiel said, pushing himself upright to regard Dean with an icy blue stare. "No one answered. I called Bobby's phone and Hope answered. What was she supposed to do, exactly?"

"Wait for us!" Dean bellowed. "Let me and Sam take care of it!"

"Seriously!?" Hope exploded, forcing herself to stand and looking Dean in the eyes. "I had you pegged as a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but a chauvinistic bastard wasn't one of them."

"This isn't about you being a woman, Hope!" Dean sputtered, taking a step backward. "It's about the fact that I love you and I can't lose you! Not again!"

"Dean," Hope said, taking an excruciatingly painful breath, "I can take care of myself. And if we're going to do this, you've _got_ to stop acting like my parole officer and start acting like my partner. If you don't, we don't have a shot in hell at making this work."

Hope closed the distance between them, putting a hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry I scared you, I am. But, Cas saved my life and I owed him. I figured if he tried to call you guys first and couldn't get you, it was up to me to do something."

Dean studied her face, then closed his eyes for a moment. "Why did you tell Sam where you'd gone and not me?" His voice was soft, and he opened his eyes as she chuckled softly.

"Because he called me, Dean. Do you really think I wouldn't answer if it'd been you that called?" Hope said, still chuckling. "Jesus, I'm not that cruel."

"Why didn't you call me then?" 

"Why was Sam the one that called me and not you?" Hope regarded him with a raised eyebrow, and the tips of his ears turned that shade of pink that made Hope just want to pull him into her arms and protect him from the world. "I didn't call you because I knew you wouldn't answer. I knew you were scared, angry, or possibly both and wouldn't talk to me anyway."

Dean nodded, pulling her into a gentle hug. "So what happens now?" He asked, pulling away to look Hope in the eyes. 

"You start trusting me, Dean. I got me and Castiel both here in one piece, remember that," Hope said. "I know you and Sam are going to have to start hunting again soon, and there's no way you're leaving me behind while you guys charge headfirst into danger."

"You may have gotten here in one piece, Hope, but you're beat to hell. I don't want that for you," Dean said softly, running a finger gently across Hope's injured cheekbone.

"But you expect me to be okay with it?" Hope retorted. "What, I'm just supposed to wait for you and Sam to show up after a hunt, bloody and beaten to a pulp, only to stitch you up and send you out to do it again? I won't do that, Dean. I can't do that. We do it together, or we don't do it all. That's the deal."

Sam stood in the kitchen doorway, grimacing as he heard Hope give Dean her ultimatum. He braced himself for the inevitable explosion that didn't come. Dean stared at Hope for several moments, and Sam could practically taste the tension in the air surrounding them, but Dean didn't say a word. He simply nodded once, then bent his head and kissed her. Sam tilted his head in surprise, a broad smile creeping across his face. It seemed his stubborn, occasionally idiot brother had finally found his match.


	25. Two Princes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist writing a little more tooth-rotting fluff before the proverbial shit hits the fan. 😍 Enjoy!

Hope moved out of Dean's embrace, studying him with narrowed eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with Dean?" 

Sam snorted from the doorway, stifling a laugh. Dean shot Sam a glare over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to Hope. "Now you're mad because I agreed with you? Make up your damn mind, would ya?"

"I'm not mad, Dean," Hope said, shaking her head. "I just know you, and you don't give in that easily, especially not about something like this. Like Cas pointed out weeks ago, the three of us are the most stubborn creatures on the planet, so what gives?"

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Dean snapped, stomping outside to get the rest of the gear out of the Impala.

Hope stared after him, opening and closing her mouth several times while she tried to decide whether or not to follow him. She glanced at Sam, narrowing her eyes at his bemused look. "You think this is amusing, don't you?"

"Only a little," Sam admitted, pushing himself off the door frame. "I was certain he was going to blow the roof off this place when you tossed out that ultimatum. If you'd been anyone else, he probably would have." Sam shook his head, watching through the window as Dean unloaded their duffle bags and supplies from the trunk.

"It wasn't an ultimatum," Hope said, her breath hitching as she lowered herself gingerly into the chair. "It was more of a—challenge."

"That's nothing but semantics, Hope, and you know it," Sam said with a half-smile. "So why do it?"

Hope propped her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. Did she dare tell Sam about her memories? Some part of her thought that she should tell Dean first, but she wasn't sure he'd even believe her and given where his head was at right now, Hope didn't feel like opening that particular can of worms with him. Silence settled over the room as Sam waited for Hope to answer his question. 

_"You need to tell them, Hope. They deserve to know."_ Castiel's voice filled her head, and Hope dropped her hands and stared at him. He was still lying on the couch, his eyes closed and breathing even as though he were just taking a nap. Was he even awake?

_"Wait, how are you talking to me like this? I thought your grace was gone."_

_"So did I. Apparently it's not completely gone, but it will take some time to recharge."_

_"Oh, well I guess that's something then. As for Sam and Dean, what am I supposed to tell them? That I have acid-trippy memories of other lifetimes? That I was a hunter once too? Do you really think Dean will even believe me?"_

_"I think Dean is capable of believing more than you think, Hope. And even if he doesn't believe you immediately, Sam will."_

Hope sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. Her eyes felt like someone had mixed glass shards and sand together and poured a bucketful into her eyes. When was the last time she slept? Two days ago? Three? She shook her head, glancing up at Sam, who regarded her with a raised eyebrow. She sighed again, dropping her hands between her knees.

"Sit down," Hope said, gesturing toward the other chair. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" Sam frowned, settling himself into the chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Depends on your definition of wrong, I guess," Hope said, propping her chin in one hand. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to spit it out. Ever since Cas pulled me out of the coma, I've been remembering things. While I was in the coma, I was having these really weird dreams—or what I thought were dreams anyway. It turns out, I don't think they are."

"They're not," Sam murmured. "They're memories."

"Wait—what?" Hope lifted her head, searching Sam's face. "You _knew_!?"

"Of course I knew, Hope," Sam said with a dry chuckle. "Unlike Dean, I do actually read to find answers to my questions. The first time I watched the two of you sparring in the yard and the way Dean talked about your aim when he had you doing nonstop target practice, I knew there was something else going on. So, I dug deeper into Bobby's lore about souls and it turns out, there was more to the story. If I had to guess, I'd say you were either a hunter or an assassin in another lifetime."

Hope snorted as a smile crept across her face. She avoided his gaze, picking at her cuticles instead. "Why the hell isn't this happening to Dean?"

"Who's to say it isn't? He's not exactly known for sharing," Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Have you asked him?"

Hope shook her head. "I was too afraid to say anything after mentioning it once before and him saying they were just dreams. Well that, and I didn't want to tell him about the one memory that's stuck with me since the hospital. I can't shake it. I think it might have something to do with why the angels are after me now."

"That doesn't make sense," Sam said, shaking his head. "How would a memory of a past life have anything to do with why the angels want you dead now?"

"I don't know," Hope said, glancing at Castiel. "I do know the memory isn't just from a past life, it's from a different timeline. After what Cas told us about this timeline, it's the only explanation for what I saw."

"What did you see?" Sam asked, tilting his head to one side as he watched Hope's expressions change like a flip-book. She shook her head, propping her elbows on her knees and covering her mouth with one hand to hide her trembling lip.

"I can't, Sam," Hope whispered as tears welled in her eyes. "It's horrible, and I just can't." She stood up, ignoring the pain in her ribs as she practically ran from the cabin.

"Hope—" Sam called after her, but she didn't stop. The cabin's back door slammed as Dean entered the front, dropping their bags on the floor then grabbing the cooler off the porch behind him.

"What just happened?" Dean asked, heading for the kitchen. Sam sighed, picking up the dropped bags and heading for the bedrooms.

"I'm not sure, honestly," Sam said, disappearing down the hallway. 

Dean frowned, dropping the cooler onto the kitchen table with a thud. What could possibly be wrong with Hope, other than she decided it might be fun to go toe to toe with an angel? He shook his head, ignoring the pit of anxiety yawning in his gut. He'd agreed to Hope's ultimatum, but she saw right through him. It never ceased to amaze him how easily she could do that.

He went back to the living room, flopping down onto the chair next to the couch and flipping on the TV. There wasn't anything to watch, but it was too quiet in the cabin without it because—as usual, his thoughts were too loud. 

"Dean." Dean's head snapped up at the sound of Castiel's voice, only to find the angel staring at him with an odd look on his face like he was trying to read his mind. 

"What do you need Cas?" Dean said. Castiel pushed himself upright on the couch, breathing heavily past the pain. 

"I need you to be honest. Have you been having any weird dreams lately?" 

Dean frowned, chuckling softly as he shook his head. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Cas. My dreams are more like nightmares so…"

"Do you have any dreams about you and Hope?"

Dean shrugged, staring at the TV without actually seeing it. "Sometimes. But even those are mostly nightmares. There are a few good ones though."

"I see," Castiel said, looking thoughtful. "You should probably go talk to Hope then."

"What? Why?" Dean said, darting a worried glance toward the back door of the cabin. 

"Because, your dreams aren't dreams, they're memories. Hope's had them since the coma, and I think she's struggling right now. She needs you," Castiel said, nodding toward the door.

Dean stared at the back door, letting Castiel's words sink in. Since Hope's coma, he'd had odd dreams too, but that was nothing new for him, and he chalked it up to just another day in the messed-up life of Dean Winchester. He sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. "Okay, Cas. I'll go talk to her, but I don't know how much help I'll be."

"It's not help she needs, Dean," Castiel murmured as he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. Dean hesitated, glancing down at him as he walked by. "She just needs to know she isn't alone in this."

"Of course she isn't alone," Dean grumbled, shaking his head. Didn't she know that? Hope, Sam, and Cas were his entire world; why would Hope believe she was in whatever this was alone?

 _Maybe because you refuse to put a name to it,_ the little voice quipped. He supposed that could be true, but what difference would that make in the end? It didn't change the way he felt about her, and he'd never admit it out loud, but he was too far gone for _anything_ to change that. 

Dean pulled open the door and stepped out onto the back steps, surveying the clearing behind the cabin. Hope stood alone, leaning against a massive evergreen tree as she stared blankly across the hills beyond the house. Dean watched her for a moment, etching the profile of her face in his memory. The midmorning sun danced in the strands of her windblown hair, bathing her in an almost ethereal glow as she turned, glancing over her shoulder at him and then quickly turning away so he couldn't see the tears on her cheeks.

He had seen them, though, and he bounded down the steps and across the clearing, the blanket of dried leaves crunching beneath his boots. Hope swiped quickly at her face, plastering on a smile as he approached. Dean stood next to her, their arms brushing against one another and Hope relaxed as Dean's presence steadied her. 

Dean didn't say anything for a long time, waiting for Hope to decide if she wanted to talk. Cas told him she didn't need help, and if he was honest, he was pretty terrible at the emotional support thing sometimes, but he could stand next to her as long as she needed him to. Hope sniffed, glancing up at Dean, her eyes still wet. 

"I guess Cas told you," she said quietly, setting her jaw and staring out over the hills, her mind a million miles away.

"All he said was that you've been having memory dreams since the coma, and you needed to know you weren't alone," Dean said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Hope nodded but didn't respond. "The thing is, you're not. It's been happening to me too, ever since the hospital."

Hope gave Dean a sidelong glance, lifting her chin as she blew out a breath. "Well, I guess that makes sense. Although, if they're anything like mine, I'm sorry, because it fucking sucks."

"You want to talk about it?"

Hope turned to face him, squinting slightly as she studied his face. "Not really, but I suppose it'll be necessary sooner or later. The only thing that I keep asking myself is why me? Why us? Of all the souls in the universe, why did God pick ours to live through hundreds of lifetimes? If my dreams are any indication, I'd say none of them were normal, happy lives. God's favorites, my ass. If that was true, he should've made sure we were treated better." Hope crossed her arms, her lower lip puckering slightly into a pout.

Dean snorted as a smile crept across his face. Leave it to Hope to say what she really thought. "I dunno," he replied, shrugging, "some of them weren't so bad. And no matter what, the four of us are together."

"Four?" Hope frowned, shaking her head. "If you're counting adults, there's five. Or there will be anyway."

"Me, you, Sam, and Cas," Dean said, looking confused. "Who else is there?"

Hope bit her lip as she smiled up at him. "You didn't really think you were the only one who possessed a mirrored soul, did you?"

"Sam?" Dean asked, his eyes widening. "But I thought Jessica…"

Hope shook her head. Not long after they met, Dean had told Hope about Jessica's death, and even now, her heart still broke for Sam and she mourned the life of a woman she'd never known. "Jessica was important, but she wasn't his mirror, if that makes sense."

"Should we tell him?" Dean asked, his expression thoughtful. Hope shook her head, turning her gaze toward the landscape once more. 

"I don't think so. As open-minded as Sam is, I don't think he's ready for that. You damn sure weren't," Hope teased, the corners of her mouth twitching as she caught sight of Dean's ears turning pink out of the corner of her eye.

"Neither were you, smartass," Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him. "So, you wanna tell me which one of those memory dreams brings you to tears?"

"Touche," Hope said, then cleared her throat, the lightened mood gone. "And no, not now. Maybe someday, but I'm just not ready to put it to words right now."

"Got it," Dean said, nodding. "Just don't forget, Hope, we're in this together. All of us."

"I know," Hope said, snaking her arms around Dean's waist under his jacket and laying her head on his chest. Despite everything, that's the one thing Hope knew for certain now—they'd survive anything the universe could throw at them as long as they stuck together.

~~~~~

Atropos stood on the roof of the cabin, watching Dean and Hope from a reasonable distance. She didn't worry about being seen; after all, humans didn't regard Fate as an invisible force guiding their lives for nothing. Lachesis appeared beside her, a knowing look in her eyes. 

"You like them," Lachesis said. "Admit it."

Atropos rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her sister's words. She was a Moirai; for Chaos' sake, _liking_ the humans was beneath her. "I'll do no such thing," she said, huffing primly. 

"Oh really," Lachesis said, nudging her sister. "Because from where I'm standing, you spend an awful lot of time watching the four of them. Not that I blame you, those boys are definitely nice to look at. The girl's nice too, if you like that sort of thing, but it's not just about them being pretty. Is it?" 

Atropos glared at Lachesis, biting the inside of her cheek and resisting the urge to shove her annoying sister off the roof. Whether she liked it or not, Lachesis had a point. Atropos did spend an inordinate amount of time watching Hope, Castiel, and the Winchesters, especially now that the human girl had thrown a wrench into the timeline. Atropos wondered more often than not how, in over three thousand years, she had not foreseen a single incarnation of Hope Bennett that battled her selfish, petty nature the night Dean stood on her doorstep and begged for her help—and emerged victoriously? Something was different about this Hope, and Atropos found it fascinating, to say the least.

"Tell me, sister," Lachesis said, nodding toward Hope and Dean. "If their fate lies beyond what you can see now, will you help or harm them on their path?"

"You've asked an impossible question, Lachesis," Atropos said, crossing her arms. "If I don't know the outcome, how can I do either? This group of humans will be the only ones in the history of the universe to exercise _true_ free will, and something tells me they have a while to go before anything begins to make sense again."

"As the humans say, it's going to be one _hell_ of a story. Don't you think?" Lachesis smirked, winking at her sister. Atropos didn't answer, just continued staring at Hope and Dean as they drew comfort from one another's presence. Indeed it would be, she supposed, and that's precisely what worried her.

~~~~~

_**Three months later** _

Hope woke alone to the morning sun streaming in through the window of the cabin, hitting her directly in the eyes like a golden laser beam searing her retinas. She yawned and stretched, ignoring the toddler pounding on the bass drum inside her head. Nausea washed over her, and she laid flat on her back, staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply until it passed.

"I'm never drinking again," she muttered to the empty room as she sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet tight across her naked body as she listened for the usual sounds of Sam and Dean bickering over breakfast foods. Castiel's injuries had healed, and his grace returned three weeks before, and he'd left the cabin in search of answers about why Raphael wanted Hope dead.

 _Riiightt, and how many times have you said that over the years?_ Hope ignored that little voice, more concerned about the silence that filled the cabin. Where the hell was Sam and Dean? She couldn't possibly have been asleep that long. Sighing, she threw the sheets off her and pulled on a tank top and jean shorts, tossing her hair into a messy knot as she left the bedroom looking for them.

Hope found the note on the kitchen table, scrawled in Dean's handwriting. 

_You were still snoring, so me and Sam went on a supply run. Someone ate all the chili-lime jerky last night. D._

"Yeah, you did, ya jackass—and I don't snore," Hope grumbled, dropping the note onto the table and glancing around the kitchen at the remnants of the previous night's entertainment. There had been beer—lots of beer if her headache and the empty bottles everywhere were any indications, and Hope vaguely remembered the poker games and blaring music as Dean scarfed down his entire stash of jerky. 

Hope shook her head, examining the messy room as she took a deep breath and padded back to the bedroom, grabbing her phone and popping a couple of painkillers after brushing the old newspaper taste out of her mouth. She put on her headphones and started her '90s alternative grunge playlist as she grabbed a trash bag from under the sink. 

Hope spent the next half hour dancing like a fool around the kitchen as she cleaned up the aftermath of their party. She was so busy washing dishes and reenacting her own _Risky Business_ dance scene she didn't notice she wasn't alone anymore until she spun around, glancing up to see Dean leaning against the doorway, struggling to contain his laughter.

Hope let out a screech, pulling the headphones off her ears and settling them around her neck, the music still blaring through them. "Oh my god, you gave me a fucking heart attack, you asshole!"

Hope turned four different shades of crimson, and Dean couldn't hold back his laughter anymore as he pushed himself off the door frame and walked toward her. "Spin Doctors? Really?" he snorted, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. "You're breaking my heart, Hope. I don't even know who you are anymore." Dean clutched at his chest, feigning shock.

"Bite me," Hope replied, her face returning to its normal color. "Some of us have broadened our horizons beyond mullet rock."

"Ouch, sweetheart," Dean said with a grin, shrugging one shoulder. "Still, I expected better from you." Hope rolled her eyes, standing on tiptoe to kiss his stubbled cheek. 

"Too bad," she smirked, taking a step back and holding her arms out wide. "I yam who I yam." She said in her best Popeye impression as she pulled her headphones up and started dancing around the kitchen again, singing loudly and purposely off-key. To her surprise, Dean caught her by the arm and grabbed her headphones, placing them around her neck again, then spun her away from him as they both started dancing to the tinny sound of "Two Princes" crackling through Hope's headphones.

Sam walked in, carrying a handful of bags, shaking his head in amused bewilderment as he watched Hope and Dean dancing in the kitchen, chuckling to himself as he set the bags on the table. What the hell had he just walked in on? Sam couldn't remember a single time in his life when Dean did something spontaneous like dance around a room while completely sober, and it was just one more reason Sam believed Hope was good for him. Something close to jealousy shot through him, and he shoved it away. He wasn't jealous, he told himself as he looked away and emptied the bags onto the table. 

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said, slightly breathless as he grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah," Sam said, lost in his own thoughts. He glanced at Hope, his mouth twitching as he tried to contain his smile. "You are now _required_ to explain whatever black magic fuckery is going on here. Anyone who can get Dean to _listen,_ let alone dance to, anything that isn't an '80s hair band has a powerful grasp of the dark arts." Dean glared at Sam as he tossed the empty bottle into the trash, and Sam shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

Hope took off her headphones and grinned at Sam, her face flushed pink from embarrassment and exertion. "Oh, I don't know Sam. I can be pretty persuasive," she teased, grabbing the six-pack from the table and putting it in the fridge. 

"Obviously," Sam murmured, glancing at Dean and smirking at the frown he wore. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out, swiping at the screen. Without a word, he grabbed his laptop off the table and headed toward the living room. Hope glanced at Dean and shrugged, following Sam.

"What is it?" she asked, settling herself on one end of the couch and watching him with curious eyes. 

"It's a case," Sam said, swiping his finger across the touchpad on his laptop as he scanned the screen. "Something weird is happening in Nebraska."

"Oh," Hope mumbled, unsure how she should feel about the news. It occurred to her that Sam and Dean hadn't been hunting since she'd joined them almost six months ago, and she hadn't wanted to think about the day that they would eventually return to it. She wondered idly if Dean would try to dump her back at Bobby's house while they chased the lead, or if he'd actually stick to the agreement they'd made and let her join them. 

"What kind of case?" Dean asked, sprawling across the chair and turning on the TV. They never actually watched it, but someone always turned it on when they were in the room. 

"So according to the internet, people are getting killed by—" he pursed his lips, frowning at the screen, "children's toys?"

"What?" Hope said, blinking in confusion. "What kinds of toys?" She glanced at Dean, who gave her an odd look, then turned his attention to Sam.

"Um, let's see. This report says a woman scratched herself all the way through her skull. The culprit—itching powder," Sam grimaced, shaking his head. 

"That doesn't make any sense," Hope said, cradling her chin in her hands. "Itching powder is nothing but ground up maple seeds. It's not powerful enough to cause a reaction like that."

"Exactly," Sam said absently, still scrolling down the screen. "Or, how about this one—a guy electrocuted someone with a hand buzzer." 

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Dean said, shaking his head. "Are we looking at some sort of cursed objects? Those things don't even have batteries. Either way, it definitely sounds like something we should check out."

Sam nodded, glancing up from the screen, his eyes darting from Dean to Hope and back again. He raised an eyebrow in question, but Dean ignored him as he stood up and stretched. Hope pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. 

"So what are you going to do with me?" Hope asked, bracing herself for Dean's inevitable speech about keeping her safe and out of the way. 

Dean stared at her in startled confusion. "Well, I _want_ to drop you at Bobby's to keep you safe." Hope made a face, opening her mouth to spit out a scathing retort and closing it again when Dean continued. " _But—_ something tells me it will be less painful for everyone if I don't suggest that. So what do you say? Are you up for it?" 

Hope stared at Dean, stunned into speechlessness as she nodded dumbly. Her ribs had healed completely a few weeks before, and Hope had long suspected Dean was dragging this remote vacation out as long as possible under the guise of Hope needing to heal to delay an inevitable moment like this one.

"Well, let's get the cars loaded then. We're outta here in twenty," Dean said, nodding and heading toward the bedrooms, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. 

"That went easier than I expected," Hope said, standing up and staring after Dean in confusion. "Are we sure that's Dean?" She pointed toward the hallway and regarded Sam with an incredulous look.

Sam's eyebrows shot up as he shrugged, unsure of how to react to Dean's behavior himself. "I'm telling you, Hope. Black magic fuckery. It's the only explanation."

Hope rolled her eyes. "Ha ha, very funny."

Sam chuckled, then shrugged as he closed his laptop. He tucked it under one arm as he stood, flashing Hope a half-smile. "Well, you heard him. Let's get moving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't resist the little kitchen dancing scene in this chapter. In my head, I often imagine Dean dancing like Peter Quill at the beginning of Guardians of the Galaxy. 🤩


	26. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter returns to the regularly scheduled angstiness (is that a word?) of Hope and Dean's lives while Sam gets dragged along for the ride. Buckle up and enjoy the ride folks!

Rock music blared from the Impala's speakers as Dean loosened his grip on the steering wheel, turning his hand to glance at his watch. By his rough calculation, Alliance, Nebraska was fourteen hours southeast of the cabin, and they'd only been on the road for three. He sighed, glancing in the rearview mirror to reassure himself that Hope was still following behind. 

"What's wrong, Dean?" Sam said, not looking at his brother. His head was pressed against the glass of the window, his eyes closed, but Sam didn't need to see to know that something was eating at Dean. 

Dean gave him a sidelong glare, shaking his head. He'd never understand how Sam could be so intuitive and yet so oblivious at the same time. What the hell did he think was wrong? "Nothing, Sam. I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Sam let out a mirthless chuckle, lifting his head to stare at Dean's profile. "You always forget that I know you. Let me guess, even though you agreed to Hope's demand that she be included in this part of our lives, you're trying to decide whether to drop her at Bobby's and make a run for it."

"No," Dean said sullenly, setting his jaw and refusing to meet Sam's gaze. "That's not it at all."

Dammit. Was he that easy to read?

Sam snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back in the seat. "Don't bother trying, Dean. You'll lose her if you do."

"I know." Dean sighed, the note of resignation in his voice unmistakable. "But I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen because I agreed to this, and if something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."

"I know, Dean." Sam said, studying Dean's face, his eyes soft and filled with concern. "The thing is, no matter what, it's not your job to keep everyone safe. You have to believe that Hope can take care of herself, because I do. I have to. I may not love her the way you do, but she's still my friend and I want to keep her safe too. It's just I understand that there comes a time when everyone has to stand on their own two feet. It doesn't mean you don't worry though."

Dean didn't say anything, letting the conversation die between them as the sounds of road noise and the first musical notes of "Don't Fear the Reaper" filled the car. He made a noise of disgust, switching off the radio and glancing into the rearview mirror again. 

"So," Dean said after several tense minutes of silence, "you wanna tell me what's eating you? You've been weird since you got back to the cabin this morning."

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, then shook his head. No, he really didn't want to talk about that. Jealousy was not a good look on anyone, but it was especially horrible looking on Sam Winchester. "Not really," Sam said, staring out the window. He sighed, glancing at Dean before continuing. "I just miss Jessica and sometimes it hits me a little too hard."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, knowing the words would never be enough to take away the pain of losing someone the way Sam had lost Jessica. He started to say something else but let the thought die on his lips. Dean hated empty platitudes, and he'd be damned before he used them as a crutch when he had no idea what to say otherwise.

"It's fine," Sam said dismissively. He stared out the passenger window again as silence fell between them. Dean was just about to turn the radio back on when Sam spoke again, and he froze, his hand wavering in midair. "Although, you know, I've never seen you act like that—with anyone." A small smile played at the corners of Sam's mouth as he spoke, and heat crawled up the side of Dean's neck as he cleared his throat, tugging on the collar of his shirt. "It was nice to see. I always thought Hope was good for you."

"Yeah, well—" Dean started, shaking his head as the rest of the sentence died on his lips. He glanced into the rearview mirror, his heart leaping into his chest at the sight of Hope's Porsche veering off onto the shoulder. "What the hell?"

~~~~~

Nausea slammed through Hope's gut like a wrecking ball, leaving her weak and sweating. She'd lost count of how many times it happened since they left the cabin, but this time—this time was different, and Hope had a hard time believing it was just from drinking too much beer the night before. 

Hope took deep breaths through her nose, clenching her teeth and willing herself to not vomit in the Porsche. If she thought she was nauseous now, that particular smell would do nothing to help the situation. Hope turned up the radio, drumming lightly on the steering wheel to the song playing on the radio, trying and failing to focus on the music as her guts roiled again.

What the hell was wrong with her? Hope shook her head, letting out a low growl of frustration. She hadn't been this sick since—Hope slammed on the brakes, guiding the car to the shoulder. She didn't pay attention to whether or not Dean stopped too as she shut off the engine and stumbled out of the car, feeling her way along the side until she reached the trunk and lost the nonexistent contents of her stomach onto the pavement.

Hope gagged and spit several times, forcing thoughts about the possible cause of her illness away. She told herself there was no way as she gagged again; she was just dehydrated, that was all. 

"Hope? Are you alright?" Dean's voice came from somewhere behind her, and she wiped her mouth as she stood up to face him.

"I'm fine," Hope replied, her voice quivering slightly as she blew out a breath. "I'm—fine." She wasn't fine, but they had a job to do, and it wasn't like she hadn't powered through a stomach bug before during her residency. "I'm just a little dehydrated from too much beer last night." 

Hope gave him a weak smile as Dean put his hands on each of her cheeks and searched her eyes, his own filled with apprehension. "If you're not feeling up to this, you don't have to go, Hope. There's always going to be another hunt," Dean said, as he planted a kiss on her forehead, both as a gesture of affection and as a rudimentary temperature gauge. Hope didn't appear to have a fever, so maybe she was telling the truth. 

"I'm fine, Dean; I just need to eat something and drink a lot of water," Hope took a step back, waving him off. "I saw a sign back there for a truckstop diner a few miles ahead. I'm gonna head up there. Will you and Sam stop too, or go on ahead?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hope," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he reached for her hand. "Of course we'll stop, I'm starving anyway." Hope flashed him another weak smile, and worry twisted in Dean's gut. She was pale and sweating, the skin of her face pulled taught across her cheekbones. Dean swallowed hard as he helped her back into the car, planting another kiss on her forehead as he shut the door. 

"I'll be fine, Dean," Hope said, waving him away as she started the engine. "Go, I'll follow you." Dean nodded, and with some reluctance, headed back to where he'd parked the Impala. He glanced over his shoulder at Hope a few times, as though to reassure himself she was still there, waiting for him. Each time, Hope would smile, as much for herself as for Dean, and wave him on impatiently. 

"Finally," Hope whispered once Dean reached the Impala and pulled open the door. She watched as he slid inside, and she wondered, not for the first time, how God decided which souls to simply split and which ones were more special. While she supposed she was grateful God considered her special, Hope couldn't help but wonder if all of it was nothing but a house of cards that would come crashing down around her any minute. 

Hope's nausea faded by the time she parked the Porsche next to the Impala at the roadside diner, and her stomach growled and churned, declaring its demand for proper sustenance as the three of them went inside. The smell of old cigarettes and greasy diner food slammed into Hope as though she'd walked directly into a wall, and she swallowed hard, clenching her teeth again. 

_Breathe—deep_ _breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Just breathe. You got this._

Hope gritted her teeth as they settled into the booth, hiding behind the cracked plastic menu as she glanced over the offered diner fare, resisting the urge to gag at the mere thought of the greasy food. This could _not_ be happening; she was just hungover, that was all. Hope repeated the thought like a mantra, concentrating so hard on it that she completely tuned out Sam and Dean giving their food orders to the server.

"Hope?" Dean said, startling Hope out of her thoughts.

"What?" Hope groused, shaking her head. "Oh, uh, sorry." She glanced up at the server and back to the menu. "I have some water, a short stack, and eggs. Scrambled," she added as she closed the menu, handing it back to the server, who nodded and hurried away.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, tilting his head and frowning in concern as he eyed her from across the table. "You seem—distracted."

"I'm fine, Sam," Hope said a little too forcefully, and Sam grimaced and set his jaw as he stared out the window. "Sorry," she muttered as guilt stabbed her in the gut, mixing with everything else rolling around in there. "I'm just a little hangry, that's all."

Sam nodded but said nothing. He didn't believe that was all that was on Hope's mind, but it wasn't his place to call her out on it. He glanced at Dean, who was also studying Hope with an odd expression. At least he wasn't the only one that didn't seem to believe Hope's excuse.

The three of them sat in silence until their food arrived, sipping their drinks, and trying to ignore the growing tension between them. Once the plates were set on the table, all the unspoken strain surrounding the table disappeared as Dean stared at the mounds of food before him, digging in with reckless abandon. 

Hope's mouth twitched as she watched him, thinking it was adorable how much Dean loved food. Her amusement grew as she watched Sam stare at Dean, his expression a mixture of confusion and disgust as he took slow, deliberate bites of his egg-white omelet. Hope shook her head, stifling her smile as she picked at her pancakes and forced herself to eat a respectable amount. 

The diner was mostly empty, and they ate in silence, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates the only sound between them until Dean finished, leaning back into the booth and letting out a small sigh of contentment. "Feel better?" Hope teased, pushing her plate away as she fought the urge to gag again. 

"Much," Dean said, glancing from Hope to her half-eaten food. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Hope said, giving him what she hoped was a believable smile. "Let's get going. We have a long way to go." 

Sam nodded, standing up and stretching as Hope followed, dropping a couple twenty dollar bills on the table. It was far more than the meal cost, Hope knew, but she hoped the tip would bring a smile to the server's face. Dean sighed, following Hope and Sam reluctantly out the door. Hope was hiding something; he just knew it but damned if he could figure out what it might be. There would be time to figure it out, he told himself as he slid into the driver's seat of the Impala. 

~~~~~

Hope growled in frustration as she parked the Porsche outside the motel room. She'd battled nausea nonstop since they left the diner, and she was over it. She sighed, climbing out of the car and grabbing her duffle bag from the trunk as Dean unlocked the motel room door and led them all inside. 

The room was large, with two queen beds and an armchair shoved haphazardly in the corner opposite a tiny kitchenette. There was a table in the middle of the room, two rickety chairs placed on either side of it, and Hope wondered if they were even safe to sit on. She dropped her bag on the floor at the end of one bed, then practically ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. 

Hope took deep breaths, gripping the sides of the sink and dropping her head between her arms as she wrestled for control of her stomach. She lost the battle, quickly turning on the faucet as she lost the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Hope groaned, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and resting her elbows on her knees. 

_"Cas? Can you hear me?"_ There was no answer, which didn't surprise Hope, but she couldn't help but worry that he'd ended up in another hospital somewhere. She sighed, forcing herself to stand and rinse her mouth before shutting off the faucet and returning to the others. 

Sam and Dean both looked up from whatever heated, yet oddly quiet discussion they were having as she entered the room, closing the bathroom door behind her. "So, what are you guys planning to do now that we're here?"

Dean glanced away, avoiding her gaze, and a knowing smile crept across Hope's face. He didn't want to take her along, she could tell, which was fine as far as she was concerned. All she wanted to do right now was sleep. But before that, there was something else she needed to do.

"It's okay, Dean," Hope said. "You and Sam go do—whatever it is you do when you first roll into town. I'm not feeling that great anyway, so I'll just hang out here until you guys get back."

Sam's brows shot up as he stared at Hope, unsure how to process what she said. "Well, we were just going to go talk to the coroner and get a better idea of what we're dealing with, then go from there."

Dean studied Hope, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So, what? After all that talk about doing this together, you're content to sit on the sidelines? I'm not buying it. What's really going on?"

"Nothing, Dean," Hope said, rolling her eyes as she sank down onto the end of the bed and unzipped her duffle bag. Her hands trembled slightly as she searched for her toothbrush, and she wondered for a moment if part of the roiling wave of nausea in her gut was due to withdrawal symptoms. "I just think I'll be more of a hindrance than a help right now."

"But you're a doctor, you might pick up on something we miss," Dean said, glancing at Sam, who nodded in agreement.

"Maybe," Hope said, clenching her teeth, "but I doubt it. I'm a surgeon, Dean. I haven't dealt with an already dead body since med school. I promise, I won't be nearly as much help as you'd like to think."

Dean nodded, standing up and grabbing one of the garment bags slung over the bed and headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dean emerged, fastening his white dress shirt's buttons, and Hope's breath caught in her throat as she watched him put on the suit jacket. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because Dean shot her a half-smile that left her insides in a pile of formless mush. 

"Like what you see there, sweetheart?" Dean said with a wink. Sam groaned, grabbing his own garment bag and heading for the bathroom. 

"You two get a room," Sam muttered, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Hope laughed as Dean wrapped his arms around her, kissing the side of her head. 

He put a hand on the side of her face and moved to kiss her, but she backed away. "No," she said, immediately regretting it when she saw the look of confused hurt in his eyes. "I want to, believe me," she said, biting her lip as she stared at his mouth, wanting nothing more than to wrap his tie around her hands and kiss him until he was nothing more than a puddle of goo in her hands. Hope cleared her throat, forcing herself to look into his eyes. 

"It's just, until I know what's going on with me, I don't want you to get sick too," she said, sighing. "So until this passes, no kisses for you."

Dean groaned, pressing his lips to her forehead. "That might just be impossible, Hope. I think I might be willing to risk it," he teased, trailing his fingers down the side of her neck and sending shivers of pleasure and desire through every inch of her body. "Besides," he murmured as he pulled her closer, planting kisses along the trail his fingers left behind, "there are so many other places to kiss besides your mouth."

Hope's blood thrummed in her veins as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her shoulder, and she thought she might just die right there in Dean's arms. She supposed there were definitely worse ways to go than that as she tilted her head to give him better access. The bathroom door lock clicked, bringing Hope back to reality. "As much as I would love to continue this," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's cheek as she untangled herself from his arms, "you two have work to do. Now go, before I change my mind and Sam has to spend the rest of the night in the car."

"Fine," Dean grumbled, smoothing down the front of his jacket and ignoring the bulge beneath his belt. "C'mon, Sammy," he groused, striding out the door. Sam groaned, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his suit jacket from the hanger and throwing it across his shoulders as he closed the motel room door behind him. 

Hope let out a breath, the faint memory of Dean's lips still tingling her skin and drawing an involuntary smile across her face. She didn't know how he managed to pull such a primal reaction from her, but she hoped it never ended. She sighed, grabbing her toothbrush and heading for the bathroom to brush her teeth, where she promptly gagged on the toothbrush. 

"That's it," she grumbled, turning off the faucet and grabbing the room key and her phone. There was a drugstore on the corner only a short walk from the motel, and the fresh air would do her some good. As she walked, she breathed in the warm evening air, feeling oddly at peace given her current situation's uncertainty. 

Was this really how she'd pictured her life? It was a question she'd asked herself a million times since Cas had zapped her out of the hospital. Hope smiled at the thought because, of course, it but it wasn't as though she could've imagined a life with Dean anyway. The very nature of his life demanded flexibility and impermanence, two things which Hope was sure she was not. Why had God chosen the two of them to bind for all eternity? It was a question that plagued her even now, and she had a feeling that what happened next would not bring her any closer to finding an answer. 

Hope reached the parking lot of the drugstore, and she took a steadying breath as she squared her shoulders and walked to the door, passing a young boy sitting alone on the sidewalk. He couldn't have been more than eleven years old, and he looked up at her with dark green eyes. Hope couldn't help but be fascinated by how much they reminded her of Dean's eyes. "Hey, buddy," she said, flashing him a soft smile, "what are you doing out here by yourself?"

The boy shrugged and gave Hope a shy smile. "My parents said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Ah, well," Hope nodded in agreement. "Your parents are very wise. Where are they?"

"At work," the boy said, shrugging again as he stared at his shoes. "They work a lot."

"Well, what's your name? Mine is Hope," she said, crouching to be eye level with the boy. He stared at her, his head tilted to one side as he studied her face. Hope got the uneasy feeling the boy was looking _through_ her, and she fought the urge to break eye contact. 

"Jesse," he said after a short silence. "Does this mean we're not strangers anymore?"

"I think that's exactly what it means," Hope said, glancing across the busy street to the diner on the opposite corner. "Hey, are you hungry? I'm starving." 

Jesse grinned and nodded, taking Hope's offered hand. Hope ignored the little voice in her head telling her that she was only delaying the inevitable, and eventually, she'd have to stop running away and actually turn and face the questions she had. 

_Well, I don't have to do it right now._ Hand in hand, the two of them crossed the street at the light, settling themselves into a corner booth. Hope stared at the menu, suddenly ravenous. "So," Hope said, "what sounds good?"

Jesse was quiet for a moment, then set the menu down and pointed to the chili fries. "Can I have that?"

"Sure, you can have whatever you want. It'll be our little secret," Hope said with a slight smile. Jesse grinned at her, nodding enthusiastically. 

They gave the server their order—chili fries and chicken strips for Jesse, a bacon cheeseburger and tater tots for Hope. She chuckled to herself as the server retreated away from their table, unable to remember the last time she'd actually _had_ a bacon cheeseburger before she met Dean. The best estimate she had was her freshman year of college. After getting into the science classes required for her degree, the thought of eating a heart attack on a plate became less and less appealing.

Hope and Jesse ate their food, and Hope listened intently as Jesse chatted about the things eleven-year-olds were interested in. Her phone buzzed, and she dug it out of her pocket, typing a quick response to Sam. 

"Hope?" Jesse asked, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. Hope set her phone down, turning her attention to Jesse as it buzzed again.

"What's up, kiddo?" She said, glancing at the text from the corner of her eye. _Another victim, a girl, died from mixing pop rocks and coke. Headed to Elk Creek to follow up on a lead. You okay?- S._ Hope tapped a quick response and locked the screen, shoving the phone in her pocket. 

"Do you believe in magic?" 

Hope chewed her burger slowly, lost in thought. "I'm not sure anymore. I didn't before, but I've learned there are things in life that can't be so easily explained away. Why do you ask?"

"Because I think I can do magic," Jesse confessed, staring blankly at his plate. "I think about things and they just sort of—happen."

Hope's heart skipped a beat as she swallowed the bite in her mouth. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, a couple of weeks ago, while I was at school I had this idea that mixing poprocks and coke would make an awesome mouth volcano. A couple days later, half the kids in my class were out sick, and I overheard the principle telling a teacher that it was because of that."

Jesse leaned back against the booth, staring at his hands. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody, I just thought it was funny. The same thing happened with my friend's babysitter. He joked about putting itching powder on his babysitter's hairbrush and I told him about this story I'd read where that happened and the person scratched all the way into their brains. And then—"

"Stop," Hope said, holding up a hand and giving Jesse her most reassuring smile. "That stuff was just a coincidence, Jesse. You didn't hurt anyone." She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt as Jesse shook his head and avoided her gaze.

"But I did do it," Jesse insisted, gazing up at her with pleading eyes, "I know I did. My parents don't believe me, but I think you do. Don't you?"

"Jesse, I—" Hope started, pushing her plate away as she let out a sigh. "Yes, I do. You see, my friends and I, we help people that are special. I think we can help you too."

"You think so?" Jesse asked, his expression pleading as he searched Hope's face. She nodded, smiling at him. 

"Definitely," she said, standing up and paying for their food. "C'mon, let's get outta here and go meet my friends. What do you say?"

Jesse searched her face a moment longer, assessing the possibility of danger behind her words. The corner of his mouth lifted as he slid out of the booth and stood next to her. "My house is only a couple of blocks from here," he said quietly. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Hope nodded, letting him lead the way. Ten minutes later, they entered the tidy living room of a two-story Victorian-style house. Hope pulled out her phone, tapping the address to Dean. By the time his reply appeared on her phone, Castiel was standing beside her, brandishing the demon blade. 

Jesse backed away, his eyes widening in shock and fear. Hope stood between Castiel and Jesse, shaking her head. "What the hell are you doing, Cas?" she demanded, holding up her hands. 

"Hope, get out of the way," Cas replied, taking a menacing step forward. Hope squared her shoulders and stood up to her full height, refusing to budge. "That thing is a Cambion, an abomination. He will be the one to destroy the host of Heaven with a single thought."

"No," Hope growled, glaring up at Castiel with fury shining in her eyes. "That _thing_ is an eleven year old boy, and I won't let you murder him because of what you think he _might_ become, Cas. You'll have to kill me first."

Castiel glared at Hope, his jaw set in a rigid line. "Move, Hope." He raised the blade, taking another step forward as Hope closed her eyes and braced herself for the fight she didn't want. Jessed let out a soft cry, throwing his arms across his face. Hope opened one eye, glancing around frantically. Castiel was gone. In the place where he'd stood only seconds before, a toy figure dressed in a tan trenchcoat and holding up a tiny blade.

"Did you do that?" Hope asked incredulously, bending and picking up the figure from the ground. 

"I-I didn't mean to," Jesse said sadly as he glanced up at Hope with tear-filled eyes, "he was going to hurt me, and you too. I'm sorry." 

"It's alright," Hope said, setting the figure on the fireplace mantle as she took a deep breath to steady her skipping heartbeat. Jesse watched in silence as Hope turned to study him.

"Why did you do that?" Jesse asked, tilting his head as his eyes bored into Hope's soul again. "He would've killed you to destroy me."

"Because," Hope replied, swallowing hard, "you're only a child, and I have seen nothing that makes me believe you are something evil that must be destroyed. Our future isn't written, Jesse, and you don't have to become anyone other than who you choose to be. As long as you remember that, and be very careful about what ideas you share with others, everything will turn out just fine."

Jesse opened his mouth to respond just as the front door exploded behind Hope, embedding shards of wood and glass into her skin. Hope turned, ignoring the searing pain as she once again placed herself between Jesse and something that threatened to harm him. A woman with black eyes strutted through the doorway, grabbing Hope by the throat and lifting her high above her head. The demon ran a razor-sharp fingernail across the underside of Hope's jaw, a feral grin spreading across her face as blood welled, dripping warm and wet down Hope's neck. 

"This little gift is just for you," the demon growled, throwing Hope across the room as Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway. Hope collided with the wall, her head hitting the molding with a sickening thud as she fell limp onto the floor, unconscious. 

"Hope!" Dean yelled, ignoring the demon and running toward Hope. The demon flicked her wrist, slamming both Sam and Dean against the plaster wall, sending a shower of debris into a pile below them. She closed her fist, and the two hunters grunted as they struggled to breathe.

"Stop it!" Jesse shouted, "let them go!"

The demon looked at Jesse over her shoulder, squeezing her fist tighter. "Why would you defend them, son? They were going to kill you. Them, and their little pet project over there. They're afraid of you, Jesse."

"No," Jesse said, shaking his head, "you're lying. And I'm not your son."

"Why would I lie to you?" The demon replied. "Jesse, I'm your mother. It was that whore over there who lied to you." Dean struggled harder against the demon's grasp, his face purple both from lack of oxygen and outrage. "Let me guess, she told you that her and her friends here could help special people like you, right? You're a demon, like me. All they want to do is murder you, that's the kind of help she was talking about."

Jesse's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Hope's unconscious body lying on the floor, then at the toy figure of Castiel on the mantle. That couldn't be right, he told himself. Hope had tried to protect him, twice, he was sure of it.

"Jesse," Sam grunted, his eyes bulging slightly as he struggled against the demon's grasp. "Jesse, Hope didn't lie to you. That's not," Sam gasped, forcing himself to keep going, "that's not who she is."

"Shut up!" The demon screeched, cutting off more of his air supply. "Stop lying!"

"Stop," Jesse said, glaring at the demon. "I want to hear what he has to say." Jesse nodded, freeing Sam and Dean from the demon's hold. 

"But," the demon protested, and Jesse silenced her with a look.

"I said," Jesse growled, "I wanted to hear what he has to say, so sit down and shut up." A chair slid across the room, and the demon collapsed into it, unable to speak. He turned his attention to Sam and Dean, regarding them with a suspicious glare.

"Was Hope telling the truth? Do the three of you help people like me, or just kill them?" Jesse said.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Sam. "Look, Jesse," Dean said absently, staring at Hope's unconscious body and losing his train of thought as he crossed the room and knelt by her side. He fought back the tears of rage and despair as he pulled her into his arms, caressing the side of her face as he tried to rouse her.

Sam watched Dean for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Here's the thing, Jesse. It really just depends on who the person is. Some special people like you do nothing but hurt innocent people on purpose, and that makes them monsters that have to be stopped. My brother and I are the ones that do that. But I think Hope saw something different in you, Jesse, something she believed was worth saving."

Jesse nodded, glancing toward the mantle where Hope had set the figure of Castiel. "And who was he? He threatened to hurt Hope if she didn't stand aside and let him kill me. When she didn't move, I didn't know what else to do, so I turned him into something that couldn't hurt her."

"That," Sam said, chuckling softly as he picked up the toy, "was a misguided friend of ours. I promise if you turn him back to himself, he'll never try to hurt you again."

Jessed eyed Sam dubiously, then changed the subject. "What does she want with me?" He nodded toward the demon Jesse held restrained in the chair. "Is it true, am I a demon?"

"Yes," Sam admitted, glancing at Dean again. "But you're also human, Jesse, and you choose who you want to become. No one else can do that for you."

Jesse glanced over his shoulder toward Hope and Dean, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She said the same thing," he said with a small sigh, "I'm going to have to leave, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid so," Sam said. "Demons and angels both will be searching for you now, and they know you're here."

Jesse nodded. "Okay," he said finally, raising a hand and exorcising the demon from his mother. "Just let me say goodbye to my parents." 

Sam nodded, watching as Jesse trudged up the stairs. His heart broke for the kid, understanding all too well the lonely feeling of being different from everyone else around you. Hope stirred in Dean's arms, and Dean's exclamation of relief jerked Sam back to the present. He rushed to their side, getting there just in time to see Hope blinking like an owl up at him and Dean.

"What happened?" Hope asked, groaning as she tried to sit up. Dean released her, although everything inside him screamed at him to grab on and never let her go. 

"Jesse," Sam said, holding out an arm to help Hope to her feet. "He sent the demon back to hell, and he's going to disappear after he says goodbye to his parents."

"He's already gone," Castiel growled from the corner. "He put everything right in town before he left."

Dean stood, rounding on Castiel. "Did you seriously threaten to kill Hope to get to Jesse? Seriously, Cas? What the hell?"

"Dean," Hope said quietly, placing a hand on his arm as she held Castiel's gaze. "It's fine. He was only doing what he thought he had to."

"No, Hope! That's not okay!" Dean said, shaking off Hope's hand and starting toward Castiel. "If you _ever_ threaten her again Cas, I swear to God—"

"I apologize, Dean," Castiel said, still staring at Hope because he understood who he should actually be apologizing to. "Hope was right about Jesse and I should've listened to her."

Hope nodded, giving Castiel a slight smile. "It's all good, Cas. Nobody got hurt, so everything is good. Let's get outta here." Hope grimaced as she stumbled toward the gaping hole that used to be the front door, waving off the three looks of concern lobbed her way. "I'm fine, guys. Let's just go."

Dean followed Hope out of the house, grumbling about how she most certainly was _not_ okay, and Hope rolled her eyes, refusing to engage further. Every joint and muscle in her body screamed at her movement as she slid into the backseat of the Impala, but she ignored it. Some whiskey or painkillers and she'd be right as rain again. 

~~~~~

By the time they got back to the motel, Hope's entire body was bathed in a sheen of sweat and she stared straight ahead in a delirious stupor, seeing and hearing nothing going on around her. Dean parked the car, glancing back at Hope as he pushed the door open. 

"Hope?" Dean said. Hope didn't respond, didn't see his expression flicker from concern to bewilderment and land directly on terror. "Hope, talk to me."

Hope closed her eyes, falling over on the seat of the Impala. Dean stood up, yelling for Sam, who appeared in the doorway of the motel room. "Sam, I don't know what's wrong. She just passed out and she won't respond to me."

Sam opened the other door, leaning inside over Hope as he pressed a tentative hand to her forehead. "She's burning up, Dean. What the hell happened to her?"

"Do you think Jesse did this?" Dean demanded, anger rising beneath his ribcage. He swore under his breath to everything holy he would scour the ends of the earth to find that brat and make him pay if anything happened to Hope.

Sam shook his head, dismissing the notion. "No," Sam said with absolute certainty. "Hope risked her life to protect him. He wouldn't hurt her. She's probably just got the flu or something. Let's get her to the hospital and go from there." Dean nodded, sliding back into the driver's seat and spinning tires out of the parking lot as Sam directed them to the nearest hospital.

They reached the emergency room, and Sam parked the car as Dean carried an unconscious Hope through the sliding doors, demanding help as he laid her on the nearest empty gurney. His mind flashed back to the last time he'd seen her this way, and he cursed himself for not insisting to go straight to Bobby's house and let them handle this case alone. 

The nurses and doctors pushed him gently back, rolling the gurney behind a curtain as Sam appeared next to him, dropping the keys to the Impala into his hand. "Sam?" Dean glanced at him; his voice was little more than a broken whisper now. 

Sam nodded, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders and guiding him to the waiting room, just as he'd done the last time Hope had been in critical condition. "She'll be fine Dean, I promise. Hope is a fighter."

Dean nodded dumbly, collapsing into a nearby chair and staring at the wall in front of him. He didn't even have words for how much he hated this, to feel this helpless while someone he loved fought for their life just down the hallway. He covered his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you, Sam. I told you I had a bad feeling about this trip."

Sam rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh as he settled into a chair next to Dean. "Yes, you did say that." He didn't say anything else; what else was there to say? Nothing could possibly shake Dean's belief that he shouldn't have agreed to Hope's terms. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the pounding headache that started behind his eyes. 

They waited for hours like this, Sam fighting a headache while Dean alternated pacing the waiting room and fidgeting in the seat next to Sam, all while muttering under his breath. Under any other circumstances, Sam might've told him to shut up, but right now, he figured that conversation would go about as well as trying to baptize a cat. A doctor appeared in the waiting room doorway, glancing around the half occupied room. Half a dozen hopeful faces turned toward her at that moment, and she double-checked the chart she carried. 

"Who came in with Hope Bennett?" Dean stopped pacing, bolting toward the door with Sam on his heels.

"Me," he said, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, "Er, we did."

"Are you friends or family?" The doctor said, staring at them both expectantly. 

"We're—" Dean started to say 'friends,' but Sam interrupted him.

"We're family," Sam said with more confidence than he felt. "What's going on with Hope, Doctor?"

"Well, we've run a battery of tests and so far we can't figure out exactly what's wrong with her. Her symptoms are presenting like scurvy, but the high fever suggests a virus of some kind," the doctor opened the chart, flipping through a couple sheets inside as she spoke, "we're treating her with antivirals and Vitamin C injections, but there's only so much we can do, given her condition. If the fever doesn't come down in the next 24 hours, I'm afraid we might lose them both," the doctor said, closing the chart.

"I'm sorry," Dean sputtered, "did you say, both? What are you talking about?"

"You didn't know?" the doctor said, frowning at the confused expression on Sam and Dean's faces. "Hope is pregnant." 

"Wait—what!? Sam and Dean said in unison. The doctor took a step back, her eyes widening. 

"I see," she said, rechecking the chart. "It's not surprising you might not have known. Hope probably didn't know herself. It says in her chart she's only around seven weeks gestation. Is one of you the father?" The doctor looked up from the chart expectantly, and Sam took a step backward, his hands raised in defense as he pointed at Dean. "So—not the giant. Got it," the doctor muttered, making a note in the chart. 

After a brief pause, she closed the chart again, her gaze darting between them. They've moved her upstairs, room 406. You can see her whenever you like." 

Dean stared at the doctor in stunned silence as she turned away. He hadn't heard a damn thing since the doctor dropped the mother of all news bombs on him. Hope was pregnant? The collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight, and the walls in the hospital were closing in on him. There wasn't enough air in the entire atmosphere for him to take a single deep breath and the world spun around him in slow motion. He couldn't breathe, and the only coherent thought that went through his brain was _run._

Dean bolted from the waiting room and down the corridor toward the elevators without a word or backward glance. For a moment, Sam watched after him in stunned silence, believing Dean was running toward Hope. It wasn't until Sam saw Dean press the lower floor button on the pane that he realized Dean was running _away_. "Dean!" Sam called, jogging to catch up to him as the elevator doors opened and Dean stepped inside. "Dean, where are you going?"

"I can't deal with this, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head as the door slid closed. "I need some air, and to be anywhere but here right now."

"Dean—" Sam started, but the elevator doors slid closed, cutting off his words. "Dammit!" 

Sam jabbed a finger into the panel, muttering curses under his breath as he waited for the elevator doors to open again. He was torn between going to Hope and going after Dean, and he settled on going to Hope. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that when Dean got like this, no one would find him until _he_ was ready. Sam just hoped whatever way Dean decided to blow off steam wasn't as self-destructive as it had been in the past. He was about to become a father, after all.


	27. Hair of the Dog

Dean stared at the elevator ceiling as it made its slow descent to the bottom floor. He was doing the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but at the moment, he didn't care. The doctor's words bounced around his head like a possessed pinball machine, moving faster and faster until he was dizzy and couldn't keep up. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Had Hope lied to him about not being able to have children? Even if she hadn't lied, this was just as much his fault for being irresponsible. 

The elevator door dinged and slid open, and he let out a breath as he sprinted for the parking lot. Dean half expected to find Sam leaning against the side of the Impala, arms crossed and staring back at Dean with a bored expression, but he was nowhere to be found. He hesitated, then shrugged and got into the car. He didn't plan to go far; he just needed to clear his head. Sam was with Hope, so she was safe until he returned. If he timed it right, Hope wouldn't even know he was gone. 

"Hey, Baby," Dean murmured as the engine rumbled to life. "Let's go for a run, what do ya say?" He headed toward the highway, pressing the accelerator toward the floor and cranking up the radio to drown out the noise inside his head. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel to the beat of the music, ignoring the creeping speedometer and letting the car thunder down the eastbound highway like a thoroughbred on race day. 

A hundred miles and a little over an hour later, Dean spotted a bar and pulled into the parking lot. He sighed and leaned his head back as he shut off the engine, and he tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that told him he shouldn't go inside. Every fiber of his being knew it was true, but he pushed the door open and climbed out of the car anyway. 

The bar was mostly empty as the door shut behind him, and he scanned the room for a moment as he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. "You lost?" came a woman's voice from behind the bar. "In or out my friend, stop blocking the door."

Dean licked his lips, blowing out a breath as he took a seat at the bar. "Are you this nice to all your customers?" he said, waiting for the bartender to finish wiping down the other end of the bar. 

"Only the ones who look like lost puppies," she retorted, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "What's the matter? Girlfriend dumped you?"

"Not quite," Dean snorted, shaking his head as he caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. What the hell was he doing here? For a second, Dean considered getting up and leaving, but that didn't last long as the bartender sauntered his way, leaning over the bar and crossing her arms. 

"I see," she said cryptically. "So, what can I get you? Beer or whiskey?"

"Whiskey," Dean replied, averting his gaze from her cleavage. He was making enough bad decisions at the moment, thank you very much. 

"Oooh," the bartender said, pushing off the bar and reaching for a bottle on the top shelf behind the bar. "It must be bad." She set two shot glasses on the bar and deftly filled them, then pushed them in Dean's direction. 

Dean picked up the glass, lifting it high in the air before tossing it back. He turned the shot glass upside down and set it on the bar, savoring the burn on his insides as he downed the second shot and gestured for another. _What are you doing, you idiot!_

The bartender gave him a dubious look, then shrugged and poured another. "So you wanna talk about whatever's eating you?"

"No," Dean snapped as he downed the shot. "Why, are you a therapist?"

The bartender shrugged again, wiping down the surface of the polished wood bar. "Cheapest therapy you're ever gonna get. Take it or leave it."

"I'll stick with the whiskey, thanks," Dean growled, laying a card on the counter and motioning for the bottle. He had demons he needed to drown, dammit, and over the years, they'd dared to learn how to swim.

"Suit yourself," she said, taking the card. She picked up the bottle and held it out to Dean, her other hand outstretched, palm open. She waved her fingers as he stared at her incredulously. "Look, you wanna drink yourself stupid it's no sweat off my ass. But I get your keys or you don't get the bottle."

"Do you steal all your customer's keys?" Dean snapped, reaching for the bottle. The bartender snatched it out of his grasp, shaking her head. 

"Only the ones destined to become a greasy smear on the highway as they try and outrun whatever it is that's haunting them," she said, snapping the fingers of her empty hand. "Now, hand 'em over."

Dean growled, fishing the keys from his jeans pocket. In a last act of defiance, he reached past Aisy and slapped them onto the bar, and grabbed the bottle out of her hand. She rolled her eyes, snatching the keys and dropping them on a hook behind the bar, making a mental note to keep an eye on the tall, dark, and broody stranger. "So," Dean said, pouring himself another shot, "what's your name?"

"Uh uh," she smirked at Dean from the other end of the bar, "nice try, handsome; but it ain't gonna happen."

"What?" Dean asked, frowning in confusion. "I mean, if you don't wanna tell me that's fine, but that just means I'm gonna call you bartender all night." 

The bartender turned, eyeing him with a raised brow. "You first, big boy. Otherwise, I'm just gonna call you the drunk guy at the end of the bar."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "It's Dean."

"Well, Dean," she grinned at him, "I'm Aisy. Have fun drowning your sorrows."

Dean nodded, pouring himself another shot and raising the glass in a cheer before slamming it and dropping the glass onto the bar. He drew in a hissing breath as the whiskey spread like fire through his chest, teasing the sweet oblivion that would come soon enough.

Over the next several hours, the bar grew more crowded and noisy, but Aisy kept a close eye on Dean. Since he'd traded the Impala keys for a nearly full bottle of whiskey, he hadn't moved from this seat at the corner of the bar, which she supposed was a good thing since the bottle was now half empty. Whatever the man was running from, he sure had a hell of a time drowning the pain.

Near midnight, the stream of customers slowed to a trickle, and by closing time, the bottle was nearly gone. After the last customer left, Aisy took a seat next to Dean at the bar, pouring herself a shot from the almost empty whiskey bottle. "So, you feel like talking yet?" 

"Was this your plan?" Dean asked, his words slurring slightly, but to Aisy's surprise, he was still more coherent than she'd expected. "Ply me with whiskey so I'll tell you my sad life story? No thanks, sweetheart." He downed another shot, grimacing at how easily he'd called a stranger the nickname he'd unconsciously given Hope. It wasn't his fault, though, was it? He'd used that term for women for many years before Hope came along. Somehow after being with Hope, it just felt wrong to do it now, and he promptly drowned that thought with another shot of whiskey.

"Whatever," Aisy replied, "You just look lost, and I'm a pretty good listener." She glanced around the bar. "It kinda comes with the job, y'know?"

"Hmmm," Dean huffed, casting a bleary sideways glance at her, "I would imagine so. Thing is, right now, I couldn't find my ass with both hands, a map, and the best damn tour guide on the planet. I doubt you're gonna be able to help me."

"Fair enough," Aisy said, pouring herself another shot and tossing it back. She grabbed the bottle and held it out of Dean's reach as he made a clumsy attempt to reach for it. "It's closing time, so how about you stop drinking, hmm?"

Dean growled, slumping against the back of the barstool. "I knew this whole thing was a mistake," he muttered, speaking to no one in particular. Aisy made a noncommittal noise, waiting for Dean to decide whether he wanted to share anything else. "There was no way it would ever work, and now—" 

Dean turned his glassy-eyed gaze on Aisy, and she regarded him with one raised eyebrow. "Tell me something," he murmured, his face taking on a faraway expression, as though he were lost in a memory. "Have you ever loved someone _so much_ that you think you'd do anything for them?"

"Can't say that I have," Aisy replied, her expression nearly identical to the bitchface frowns Sam gave him whenever Dean was doing well—exactly what he was doing right now. "But, I'm sure the right guy just hasn't come along yet."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "My brother would like you. He makes that face at me all the time."

Aisy snorted, chuckling as she slid off the barstool. "Oh, look, the drunk guy has jokes. But you were saying?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean sighed, scratching absently at his jaw, "it's over now, anyway. It has to be."

"You don't sound very sure about that," Aisy said, her tone dubious. Dean shook his head, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Trust me," he said, "I'm pretty sure it's over." Why wouldn't it be over? Hope was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for not only her life but the life of their child as well. What the hell was he doing? He was here, in some roadside dive bar a hundred miles away, drowning in whiskey and ducking the curveball life just flung in his direction at somewhere in the vicinity of light speed, instead of acting like a goddamn grown man and dealing with his problems head-on. In Dean's eyes, it just proved once more that Sam was a better man than him, and probably always would be.

"Well, here's a test then," Aisy said, a slight smile playing on the corners of her mouth as she leaned across the bar and gestured toward the front door, "if the woman of your dreams walked through that door right now and said, 'Come with me and I'll fulfill your every fantasy,' what would you do? Would you go with her without a second thought?"

Even in his inebriated state, Dean's answer was almost immediate. "Not unless her name was Hope Bennett," he said, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. Aisy nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then whatever it is you're running from isn't over," Aisy said with a self-satisfied smirk. "So, now that you know, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing," he said, frowning as he stared at the empty shot glass. "Not a damn thing." He sighed, closing his eyes.

"You're right," Aisy said, nodding toward a door near the end of the bar, "you're not going to do anything in this condition. Follow me, there's a cot you can crash on in the back." 

"I appreciate it, but I think I'll just go crash in my car," Dean said, sliding off the barstool and stumbling several steps before almost falling down. 

"How about no," Aisy said, grabbing Dean's arm and leading him toward the back room. "Let's go, ya big lush."

Dean allowed Aisy to lead him, grumbling the whole time. She pushed him roughly through a narrow doorway, where he promptly fell face-first into an old military cot and passed out. Aisy rolled her eyes, flipping off the light switch and heading back out to the main room. She gave the bar one last wipe down, stopping abruptly as Dean's phone lit up, vibrating annoyingly loud against the edge of the wooden bar. Aisy glanced toward the back room, chewing on her lip. She picked it up, sliding a finger across the screen and pressing the phone to her ear.

"Dean?" the man's voice was frantic on the other end. "Dean! Where the hell are you?! I've been calling you for hours!"

"Uh, sorry," Aisy said, "Dean can't come to the phone right now. He's passed out drunk in the back room. He left his phone out here on the bar."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Who the hell is this?" Aisy shot back, her annoyance getting the better of her. She moved the phone from one ear to the other, pinching the bridge of her nose as she let out a sigh. "Sorry, it's just been a _really_ long night. My name is Aisy and I own the Twisted Horse Saloon out on Interstate 20, just outside of Rushville. Dean has been here all night."

"Of course he has," the man said, sighing heavily. "I'm Sam. Dean is my brother, and he took off earlier today and hasn't been answering his phone."

"Yeah, kinda figured that," Aisy replied. "Look, he's fine for the moment, but he's gonna be a mess when he wakes up, so—"

"I'm on my way," Sam replied. "I'll be there in about an hour, if that's alright."

"Sounds good," Aisy said. "I'll be here, don't keep me waiting."

"Right." 

Aisy ended the call, tossing the phone onto the bar. She had closing work to do anyway, so she got to work, sweeping the floor and occupying her mind with tasks until Sam showed up.

~~~~~

"Son of a bitch," Sam muttered, angrily pressing buttons on his phone as he navigated to the ride-sharing app. He swallowed the ball of fury rising up beneath his breastbone as he scribbled a hasty note for Hope and headed for the parking lot. Dean already owed Sam big time, and if Hope woke to find both of them gone—Sam didn't even want to think how that scenario would play out. 

A little over an hour later, the first rays of morning light were streaking the sky with pink and gold as Sam stepped out of the car, straightening his shoulders and walking through the door of Twisted Horse Saloon. Nothing had lessened the furious incredulity that currently clawed at his insides; if anything, the time spent crammed into the back seat of a freakishly tiny Toyota Prius had only served to fuel his irritation. Somehow, Sam knew he shouldn't be surprised that Dean's response to finding out he would be a father would be to run away and drink himself into a stupor. Yet, here he was—surprised again.

"We're closed," came a muffled voice from behind the bar as the front door slammed shut behind Sam. The woman stood up, casting an annoyed glance at the door, her gaze landing on Sam. Her breath caught in her throat and she sputtered slightly, quickly coughing to cover up her moment of surprise. "Wait, are you Sam?"

"Yep," Sam said, popping the 'p' sound as he crossed the bar floor in a few strides. "Please just tell me Dean behaved himself and didn't do anything he won't forgive himself for."

Aisy flashed a sardonic smile, chuckling lightly as she gestured for Sam to follow her. "He's probably not gonna forgive himself for the hangover he's about to endure, but other than that, he was a perfect gentleman."

"I find that hard to believe," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Dean is a lot of things, but a perfect gentleman is not one of them." Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he held up one finger as he dug it out of his jeans pocket. "Sorry, I gotta answer this," he said, turning away from Aisy as he answered the phone.

"Bobby?? Please tell me you found something, man. The doctor says Hope's only got another day at best if the fever doesn't break soon."

Aisy's ears perked up, and even though she told herself whatever was going on in Sam and Dean's lives were none of her concern, she found herself straining to hear the conversation Sam was obviously trying to keep hidden.

"Pasithea Oizymanian Fever, you're sure?" Sam said, and Aisy tilted her head in curiosity; she knew that fever all too well. The cure consisted of several scarce ingredients—one of them so rare it was almost impossible to find inside the United States.

"Quaking Aspen Bark, oxalis ennephylla, dried lotus flower, honeysuckle, iris petals, angel blood, and a lover's blood, got it. Most of that's easy enough to track down. Any ideas where we can find oxalis ennephylla?"

Aisy watched as Sam fell silent, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was something about this man, something dark and dangerous, and Aisy shook her head, annoyed with herself that she'd missed the signs. They'd been there, blatantly evident from the moment Dean walked into her bar, and she'd ignored them. 

"I know, Bobby," Sam groused into the phone, "but we have to try. Thanks for your help. I'll let you know how it goes." 

Sam hung up the phone, squeezing it in his fist so hard Aisy thought he might crack it into microscopic pieces. "Something the matter?" she asked, trying to figure out the best way to approach him with the information he so desperately seemed to need.

"The better question is, what isn't the matter?" Sam snapped, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "I have a lot of work to do, so if you don't mind, I need to get my irresponsible man child brother out of here so I can get to it."

"I can help," Aisy said cautiously as Sam regarded her with narrow, bloodshot eyes. "Sorry, I overheard part of your conversation. You're hunters, right? Someone you know has been infected with Pasithea Oizymanian Fever?"

Sam tilted his head, his brows knitting together as he pursed his lips. "What do you know about it?" 

"Quite a bit actually, and I know there's one ingredient in the cure that doesn't exist anywhere in the northern hemisphere," Aisy said, shrugging one shoulder. "Depending on when your girl got infected, I'd say she's only got about twelve hours tops." An unwelcome stab of jealousy tore through her insides, and Aisy shook her head, turning away to hide her face. Where the hell had that come from?

"She's not my girl, she's a friend," Sam said quietly, "and I owe her my life a few times over now, so I have to try."

A knowing smile played on Aisy's lips as she connected the dots. "So—Hope, was it? She's Dean's girl—isn't she? That's why he's been hiding out here."

"Something like that," Sam said, blowing out an exasperated breath. "You said you could help me, how?"

"Come with me," Aisy said, disappearing through a set of swinging double doors into the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes but did as Aisy said, biting back his frustration and worry for Hope as he made a mental note to murder Dean when he regained consciousness. The two of them made their way up a narrow flight of stairs to the apartment above the bar. 

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, his voice reverberating slightly in the small space. Aisy glanced over her shoulder at him as she unlocked the door and opened it with a forceful shove of one shoulder. 

"You'll see," she said, flipping on a light switch as she entered her apartment. "Have a seat." Sam did as she instructed, eyeing Aisy warily as she set down her keys and phone and poured them both a drink. She crossed the short distance between the kitchen and living area, holding out a glass as he glanced up at her in suspicion. Aisy rolled her eyes, shaking the glass slightly. "It's not drugged, Sam. I meant what I said, I want to help."

"And how exactly do you think you can do that?" Sam asked, taking the glass from Aisy, not breaking eye contact. Something about her drew him in, and it bothered him that he couldn't figure it out. What did she want from him? All he knew for sure was that she was a mystery, one he didn't have time to solve right now. 

"Because," she sighed, taking a seat on the overstuffed armchair across from Sam, "I know who you and Dean are." Sam regarded her with a raised eyebrow, taking an experimental sip from the glass he held. "I mean, I know you're hunters. I am too."

"Are you now?" Sam said in a disbelieving tone. "Sorry, I don't buy it."

Aisy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Really? Fine, do you want me to prove it?" 

Sam stared at her in silent challenge, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. "Alright, have it your way. Your friend, Hope, I'm assuming she got infected sometime in the last 6-8 hours? You took her to the hospital thinking she was coming down with a nasty flu, and now she's pretty much comatose, right?" 

Sam stared at her incredulously, and Aisy nodded, tilting her head as she regarded him with narrowed eyes. "So, have the hallucinations started yet? Because that's what's gonna happen next. This virus is no joke, Sam, and it's transmitted by only one kind of demon, a succubus. So tell me, what the hell were the three of you doing hanging out with a demon if you're not hunters?"

Sam closed his eyes, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip as he decided how to answer her question. "First of all," he growled, glaring at her, "we weren't 'hanging out' with a demon for shits and giggles—unless you count being force-choked against a wall as a good time. Second, Hope got infected because she was trying to save a young boy's life, but that's not what's important right now—what's important is getting her the cure. It's not just her life at stake anymore."

"I don't understand," Aisy said, frowning as she downed the rest of her drink. "The virus is only transmitted from demon to human. It's not contagious to other humans."

Sam closed his eyes again, pressing his lips together into a thin line. Dean would kill him for what he was about to say, but desperate times and all that. Aisy might be their only shot at curing Hope, and it was one Sam was willing to take. Dean would thank him for it someday. "Hope is pregnant."

Aisy's brows shot up as her eyes bugged out of her head. "Oh my god, are you serious?!" She jumped out of the chair, pacing the room and waving her hands as she ranted. "Why in the fucking hell is she hunting then? Seriously?! What kind of irresponsible—"

"We didn't know," Sam said, clenching his jaw and mustering every last ounce of patience he had. Aisy fell silent, whipping her head around to stare at him. "It's very early, according to the tests. The doctor isn't even sure Hope knew, but Dean and I definitely didn't, or else she would not have been there. Dean would've made sure of it."

"Ahhh, that explains just about everything," Aisy mumbled, a lopsided smile splitting her face. "Dean's the father?"

Sam stared at her, not dignifying the question with a response. He'd almost convinced himself he would come to regret the decision to accept her help when Aisy sighed, setting her empty glass on the coffee table and standing up. "Forget it; it's none of my business anyway. C'mon, we've got work to do."

Aisy disappeared into the bedroom, reappearing a few moments later carrying a duffle bag and walking to the front door. Sam watched in silent bewilderment as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Are you coming or not?"

Sam groaned, standing up and following Aisy out of the apartment. She grabbed the Impala keys off the hook behind the bar as Sam wrestled Dean's dead weight off the cot and out to the car, maneuvering him not so gently into the back seat. Sam flung his hair back as he slammed the door, cutting off the sound of Dean's mumbled curses. 

"So, where to first?" Aisy asked, tossing Sam the keys and resting her hand on the door handle. Sam glanced between her and the door car, shaking his head. 

" _I_ am headed back to Alliance to take Dean's drunk ass back where he belongs, then _I_ am going to round up the ingredients for the cure. _Alone_ ," Sam said. "Hope is running out of time, and the last thing I need right now is someone getting in my way."

Aisy glared up at Sam with narrowed eyes. He had a considerable height advantage over her; she assumed he was used to that alone intimating people into doing what he wanted. "What? You think because you're glaring at me and trying to make yourself look big and scary I'm gonna be a good little girl and do as you say? I have three words for you, Sam. Haha. Fuck. You."

Sam clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes as he glared down at her. "Real mature, Aisy."

Aisy tilted her head, studying Sam. He was a stubborn one, she could tell, but not without reason or logic. "Tell me something, Sam, how do you plan on finding oxalis ennephylla? I've already told you it's impossible to find in the Northern Hemisphere."

Sam's glare faltered for a second, replaced almost instantly by a steely resolve. "We'll figure something out, we always do."

_Gotcha._ Aisy snorted, gesturing toward the backseat of the car. "Who, you and mister comatose over there? The guy who, and I quote, 'couldn't find his ass with both hands, a map, and the best damn tour guide on the planet?' Good luck with that. You don't want my help, fine. Have fun watching your friend die. If you think your brother's a mess now, wait until he finds out you could've saved her but you were too stubborn to accept help from a stranger." Aisy pushed past Sam, headed for the front door of the bar. She counted the steps in her head as she waited for him to wrestle with whatever kept him from accepting her help. 

"Wait," Sam sighed, turning toward her. "What do you get out of it?"

Aisy frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for Aisy to answer. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing, Sam," Aisy scoffed, staring at him incredulously. "I just want to help, that's all. If you don't want it, I'm not gonna force you to take it." She shifted the duffle bag on her shoulder, mimicking Sam's stance in a silent standoff. 

After several tense moments, Sam finally relented and unlocked the trunk. "Something tells me I'm gonna regret this, but let's go. The hospital is over an hour away and we're running out of time." Aisy nodded, stifling a smile as she tossed her bag into the trunk. She slid into the passenger seat, rolling her eyes at Dean snoring in the back seat. Sam slid into the driver's seat, glancing sideways at Aisy as he started the car and pointed the car in the direction of Alliance General Hospital.

They rode along in silence, Dean's occasional snorts the only sound between them in the car. After about a half-hour, Sam couldn't take it anymore. "So, if we're going to be working together, maybe we should get to know each other?"

"What do you want to know?" Aisy asked, her tone dubious. She wasn't an easy person to get to know, and she supposed it was by design, but something about this man sitting next to her made her want to change that. _That's ridiculous_ , she told herself. Sam was dangerous, and she would be stupid to believe he saw her as anything but a means to an end. Still, there was something about him that she just couldn't shake. 

"Your name, is it short for something?" Sam asked, not taking his eyes off the road. 

_Not what I was expecting, but alright._ Aisy shrugged, staring out the window. "It's a nickname. My first name is Aislinn."

"And your last name?"

"Are we really going to sit here and play twenty questions, Sam?" 

"Yes," Sam said, shooting her a sideways glare. "Yes we are."

"Fine," Aisy said, rolling her eyes. "It's Mallory. Would you like my date of birth and social security number too?"

Sam snorted, then shook his head. "Not right now, but I'll keep it in mind if I run out of other things to ask. So is there anything you want to ask?"

"Well you know my last name, what's yours?" 

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched as he answered. "Winchester." 

Aisy sucked in a breath, averting her gaze out the window. Silence fell in the car once more, as Sam gave Aisy a sideways glance, wondering what the hell just happened. "What?" Sam said.

"Nothing," Aisy replied, not looking at him. "It's—nothing."

"Bullshit," Sam replied, shaking his head. "What is it?"

"You're the ones other hunters tell stories about," Aisy breathed. "Did you guys really team up with the King of Hell to lock away Lilith?"

"Yep," Sam said, setting his mouth in a thin line. "Among other things."

Aisy nodded, slightly annoyed with herself for being the hunter equivalent of star-struck. "So…" she said, her voice trailing off as the conversation between them died.

"So," Sam replied, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "Look, I'm sure whatever you've heard about us, most of it is complete bullshit. Believe me, we lose as much as we win." 

"I'm sure you do," Aisy said, letting the subject drop as she stared out the window. Neither of them spoke again until they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. 

Sam glanced over at Aisy, who didn't acknowledge him as he reached under the seat and pulled out the air horn Dean kept stashed there. Aisy stared at him, one eye raised in suspicion as Sam stared at it, a sly smile spreading across his face.

"Sam?" she said, tilting her head. "What are you doing?" 

"Get out of the car," he said, nodding toward the passenger door as he pushed open his own. Still looking dubious, Aisy did as he said and climbed out just as Sam opened the rear door and blew the air horn. Dean snorted, his arms and legs flailing as he bolted upright, cursing. 

"Son of a bitch!!!" Dean cursed, rubbing his bleary eyes. "God damn it, Sam! What the hell?"

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Sam quipped, tossing the air horn over the seat. "Have fun last night?" 

"Bite me," Dean growled, swallowing hard as nausea hit him hard in the gut. "Wait, where the hell am I and why are you here?"

"Hi Dean," Aisy said, waving from just behind Sam. "How's that bottle of whiskey treating you?"

"What the hell?" Dean shook his head, still too drunk to think clearly. "Sam, what did you do?"

"I brought you back to the hospital, Dean. You ran away, you asshole. What the hell, man?" Sam practically vibrated with anger, and Aisy took a step back. This was clearly a family matter, and she decided to be anywhere other than in the middle of it. 

"It's none of your business, Sam!" Dean snapped, pressing his palms into his eyes. "Ugh, I'm way too hungover for this bullshit."

"Yeah?" Sam snapped, "Whose fault is that, hmm?" Sam slammed the door, striding toward the front door of the hospital and toward the elevators. 

Aisy appeared at his elbow as he jabbed the elevator button. "Everything alright?" 

"It's fine," Sam said, his jaw muscle twitching as he avoided her questioning gaze. "He's just an idiot. Nothing new there."

As the elevator doors slid open, Aisy glanced over her shoulder to see Dean entering the hospital, stumbling slightly. Sam ignored him, stepping into the elevator. "Aren't you going to wait for him?" she asked, arching her brows.

"Nah, let him take the stairs," Sam said, pressing the button for the fourth floor. "Maybe it'll sober his dumb ass up."

"Or he'll break his fuckin' neck," Aisy muttered as the doors closed. She took a deep breath, then jogged over to where Dean was barely standing upright, taking him by the arm. "Come on, I'll help you upstairs. Let's go," she said, guiding him to the stairwell.


	28. Chlorine

Sam sat in the corner of Hope’s hospital room, staring at her face and ignoring the constant, steady beeping of the monitors near the bed. Aisy appeared in the doorway, Dean leaning heavily against her and looking like he was about to pass out again, and she shot Sam a glare while shoving Dean into the other empty chair. Dean groaned, and Aisy turned her glare on him.

“Zip it,” she growled, already wishing she’d just stayed at the bar and out of these two idiots’ lives. “You did this to yourself, so suck it up and be a grown-up about it, alright?”

Sam snorted, and Aisy rounded on him. “I don’t want to hear anything from you either, jackass. Just because he’s wrong doesn’t make you right.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam snapped, giving Aisy one of his patented bitchfaces that she returned, withering him slightly.

“Look, I don’t know what you guys’ deal is, and frankly, I honestly don’t care. What I do know is that it’s going to take all three of us to save Hope’s life, so he better sober the fuck up and you better climb the fuck down off your high horse or she’s going to die. If that’s what you want, then by all means, you two idiots keep wasting time.” Aisy turned on her heel and stomped out into the hallway, muttering curses under her breath the whole way. 

“Aisy—” Sam called after her, getting no response.

She leaned against a wall and took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart, chastising herself for how out of shape she was. It shouldn’t have surprised her, not really anyway, since she bought the bar three years before she’d all but officially retired from hunting. After all, she’d done the thing she set out to do—although the revenge wasn’t as sweet as she’d hoped. Saving the entire world—that was above her paygrade. That was Winchester level monster hunting, and Aisy was well aware she didn’t have what it took to keep up with them and not die. Hell, even they died a few times if she believed the stories.

 _What the hell are you doing!? You’re going to get yourself killed!_ The question ran on a loop inside her head, and Aisy forced herself to breathe. She might not be special enough to save the entire world, but she could save Hope and her baby—she had to; it was her last chance at redemption. Sam cleared his throat from the doorway, and Aisy startled, jerking her head up and meeting his eyes. 

“Hey,” Sam said, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck, “I’m sorry for—” he waved a hand toward the room, “all that. It’s just this is the only way to deal with Dean when he gets like that. If I go easy on him then it takes ten times longer for him to come around to whatever it is he’s trying to run from. He’s my brother, and I love him, but he is one of the most stubborn creatures in the universe, and he doesn’t get to run away from this. Not now.”

“He’s not the only stubborn one,” Aisy said with a knowing smile. “Look, Sam, I get it. I had a brother too, and he was just like Dean.” She sighed, glancing up and down the hallway. “Maybe a little too much,” she added. 

Sam tilted his head, watching intently as emotions flicked across Aisy’s face—sadness, anger, pain, loss—all gone in an instant as she met his eyes again, and the stony facade returned. Although her face betrayed nothing, her gray eyes said everything she didn’t. Watching her now, Sam thought Aisy was more like Dean than he first realized, and he wondered for a moment if that was what piqued his curiosity about her.

Aisy and Sam glanced up as Hope’s doctor brushed past them and into Hope’s room. They entered the room behind the doctor as she made a note on Hope’s chart. The doctor gave Aisy and Sam a wan smile as she glanced over her shoulder at Dean. He was slumped over sideways in the chair, passed out again. “Beer?” the doctor asked, flashing a half-smile as she returned her attention to Hope.

“Whiskey,” Aisy corrected, shrugging as Sam shot her a glare. “He celebrated a bit too much last night.”

“I see,” the doctor said, snapping Hope’s chart closed. “I’ve got something for that. Be right back.”

Aisy and Sam shared a glance when the doctor disappeared into the hallway, and silence fell across the room, save for the beeping of the monitors. Sam sighed, sinking into the empty chair while Aisy leaned against the window frame. A few moments later, the doctor knocked on the half-closed door and entered, carrying an IV bag that looked like it was full of apple cider.

Without a word, the doctor wrapped a tourniquet around Dean’s arm and started the IV. Dean mumbled a curse as the needle punctured his skin, and Sam stifled a grin. Some things never changed. The doctor hung the bag from one of the open spots on Hope’s IV pole and turned to Sam and Aisy.

“He should be awake by the time this is empty. I’ll have a nurse come check in about an hour,” she said, turning toward the door.

“Thanks, doctor,” Sam murmured, glancing toward Hope with his mouth set in a grim line. “Has there been any change with Hope?”

The doctor shook her head as she chewed the inside of her lip. “Not exactly. Her fever hasn’t come down, and her brain function is off the charts. She’s not getting better, but she doesn’t seem to be getting any worse at the moment.”

“Thanks again,” Sam said. The doctor nodded, then turned and left the room, the door clicking closed behind her. Sam glanced at Aisy, who stared out the window and avoided his gaze. 

“What is it?” Sam said.

Aisy shook her head, blinking away the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes before turning and looking directly at Sam. “If you want to save Hope, we can’t wait for Dean to wake up. We’re going to have to leave him here.”

“What are you talking about? The doctor said she’s not getting any worse.”

“Don’t be stupid, Sam. You know as well as I do she’s getting worse. That brain activity—it’s the beginning of the hallucinations. Trust me, she’s about to get a whole lot worse.” Aisy scraped her teeth across her lip, breaking eye contact with Sam and taking a deep breath.

“Alright,” Sam said, scribbling a note on the pad and pressing it into Dean’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Just like that?” Aisy said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. “You just believe me? You’re not even going to ask me how I know?”

“Nope,” Sam replied, heading for the door. “You’re going to tell me on the way to wherever it is we need to go. You said you know where some _Oxalis enneaphylla_ is. That’s the only ingredient I have no way of getting my hands on in time. So, where are we headed?”

Aisy stared after Sam in disbelief. “What about the angel blood? That’s not something you can find at the corner drugstore. I mean, other hunters say you guys have an angel on speed dial, but you said earlier the stories are bullshit so—”

“I said most of what you hear is bullshit,” Sam corrected, flashing a lopsided grin. “Some things are true. Like I said, we only need that one ingredient. Are you gonna help or not?”

“Yeah,” Aisy said, following Sam as he strode toward the elevator. “Full disclosure, getting to where I stashed it won’t be easy.”

“Didn’t figure it would be,” Sam said as the elevator doors opened and the two of them stepped inside. “Nothing about our lives is ever easy.”

“Tell me about it,” Aisy replied, staring straight ahead as the elevator doors closed behind them. 

~~~~~

Hope blinked, squinting around the hospital room to see Dean slumped in the chair next to the bed, hooked up to an IV. She sat up, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Weird, she didn’t remember being able to move without pain before coming into the hospital. Hope turned, sucking in a breath as she glanced back at the bed and saw herself lying there like a corpse. 

“Hello, Hope,” a woman’s voice came from behind her. Hope spun toward the sound, and a woman stood in the corner of the room near the door, her face bathed in shadows. 

“Wh-Who are you?” Hope stammered, taking an involuntary step back toward the bed. “What do you want?”

“Relax, child,” the woman said, smiling gently as she took a step forward, revealing her face. “I’m not here to harm you. My sisters and I wish to help you.”

“Is that right?” Hope said, her tone disbelieving. “What are you? Angels?”

“Chaos, no. Such petty, selfish creatures—not altogether unlike the humans they claim are beneath them.” The woman shrugged as she began pacing the room. “I am Atropos, a Moirai.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Hope asked, forcing herself to not betray the terror building beneath her ribcage. “Last time I checked, you’re the one that cuts the thread, right?”

“That is true,” Atropos said as she stopped pacing and turned toward Hope. “But I’m not here to do that. At least—not right now. It seems you got yourself into a little bit of a—shall we say, delicate situation with the eldest Winchester.” 

Atropos gestured toward Hope’s midsection, and Hope was overwhelmed by a protective instinct, putting her hands across her stomach. “What’s your point?” Hope growled, glaring at Atropos as she resumed her pacing. 

“Don’t you want to know _how_ you ended up pregnant?” Atropos said, glancing at Hope. 

“I’m a doctor,” Hope snapped, rolling her eyes. “I know how someone gets pregnant.”

“Yes,” Atropos hummed, turning her face toward the ceiling as she squinted like she was contemplating every particle of dust and cobweb she could find there. “What you don’t know, the question that is absolutely consuming you—is how _you_ got pregnant. I can give you the answer, but there’s something you must do for me.”

“I’m not usually one for making deals with cosmic entities,” Hope said, crossing her arms. “They usually aren’t weighted in the human’s favor.”

“That is true. You are a very smart woman,” Atropos replied. “But this one is.”

“I’m listening,” Hope replied, cocking one hip on the bed. “Not making any promises though.” 

“Fair enough. As I’m sure you know, this timeline fractured when you made the decision to save Sam Winchester. That was never supposed to happen. There is exactly _one_ timeline, in the vast infinity of time and space where that happened, and it wasn’t this one.”

“I’m aware,” Hope replied, tilting her head. “Go on.”

“After that, I couldn’t foresee your future any longer, and it bothered me, so I started trying to find a way to fix it.”

“And?” Hope said, spreading her hands wide. “Did you find anything?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it, and neither are your friends.” Atropos studied Hope’s face as she grimaced, considering.

“I’m still not agreeing to anything, but go ahead and tell me,” Hope said, sighing in resignation.

“Well, for starters, the angels believe the fracture happened the night you saved Sam, but there was actually another one before that. Instead of killing Lilith and freeing Lucifer, Sam and Dean locked her away, derailing the original timeline for the universe. I believe this is why you chose to save Sam, and ultimately, undoing their decision is what will set things right again.”

“Wait,” Hope said, shaking her head in disbelief, “you’re saying in order to repair the timeline, they’re going to have to go back and free Lucifer?”

“Not necessarily go back,” Atropos said, running a finger along the window sill, then rubbing the dust between her fingertips. “Although that would be the best scenario. Doing it now would work too, because it would set things moving in the direction they were originally intended to go.”

“And it will only cost all of humanity,” Hope muttered, running a hand down her face. “How exactly is that supposed to be better than what’s happening now?”

“I never said it would be better, I said it would repair the fractured timeline,” Atropos said with a shrug. 

Atropos turned from the window, and Hope stared her down with a glare that could turn all of hell into an ice castle. “I realize you’re not human, so let me give you a little lesson. When someone says there’s a way to repair something, that usually implies that the fixed thing will be _better_ than when they started, not worse. Freeing Lucifer is the last thing anyone on this planet needs—ever. I’d rather surrender to whatever Raphael wants with me than be the reason evil incarnate walks free.”

“Don’t you want to be free of Raphael and his minions?”

Hope nodded, staring at Atropos through narrowed eyes. “What do you know about that?”

“Just that I believe Lucifer is the key. Well—Lucifer and the child you carry,” Atropos said, folding her arms as she paced the floor. 

“But you don’t know,” Hope said, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to trust you, but even you don’t know if this will work.”

“Truth be told,” Atropos said, shaking her head and keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her. “You’re right, I don’t know. I know that if my sisters and I don’t find a way to fix this, my mother—Ananke—and Chaos will find a way to set the universe on the correct path. We can’t fix it without help from the three of you, and if you refuse, the cost will be greater than just humanity.

“Meaning?”

Atropos heaved an exasperated sigh, turning an annoyed glare on Hope. “Meaning that if my mother or Chaos decides to intervene, the universe could very well revert all the way back to the beginning. Trust me, that is not an outcome any of us will enjoy.”

“So the Apocalypse comes to Earth and the world we humans know and love burns to ash, but you and your sisters escape punishment from your parents for breaking your toys. I thought you said this deal was weighted in humanity’s favor?” Hope snorted, pushing off the bed and standing toe to toe with Atropos. She doubted she would die right now, and even if she did, at least it would be quick. One little snip of Atropos’s scissors and it would all be over—no more pain, no sadness, just nothingness. “Tell me something, why _haven’t_ you ended me yet? We both know what happens if I die before this child is born, so why not just save us all the trouble?”

“Believe me, I thought about it,” Atropos admitted with a sigh. “But if I’m right and Lucifer _is_ freed, your child will be the harbinger of lasting peace on Earth between all creatures, human and supernatural.”

“That’s a big _if_ ,” Hope said. “And it’s a hell of a lot to pin on one human being. What happens if you’re wrong?”

“Then we’re all—how do you humans so eloquently phrase it?”

“Fucked?” Hope offered, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Crude,” Atropos sniffed, her nose wrinkling in disgust, “but yes, that is the idea.”

“Well, I guess we better get to work,” Hope said. “Tell me what I need to do.”

~~~~

Sam slid into the driver seat of the Impala, glancing at Aisy as he started the car. "So, where are we going?"

"Casper Mountain, Wyoming," Aisy sighed. "It's about four hours from here one way. Depending what kind of trouble we run into, we should be back early tomorrow morning."

"Will we get back in time to cure Hope?"

"I don't know," Aisy said honestly. "All I can say is we better hurry."

Sam nodded, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans and dialing Bobby's number. It rang three times before his gruff voice came across the line. "Hey, Sam. What can I do for you?"

"Hey Bobby, you up for a road trip?" Sam said, glancing toward Aisy as he backed out of the parking space and drove toward the interstate. "I got a line on some of that oxalis ennephylla, but it's gonna take me some time to get back so I'm gonna need the other stuff brought to the hospital in Alliance. We're gonna be cutting it close timewise."

"Got it," Bobby said. "Dean with you?"

"No, he, uh, needed to sit this one out. He's staying at the hospital with Hope. Don't worry, I've got backup. Just—get to the hospital as quick as you can, alright?"

"Will do. Watch your back, Sam."

"You too. Thanks." Sam ended the call, tossing the phone lightly onto the dash as he pressed harder on the accelerator, urging the Impala a little further over the speed limit.

They rode without speaking for a long time, the tension building in the car until Sam sighed and switched off the radio. "Alright, start talking. How do you know so much about this fever and where this ingredient is?"

Aisy closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, wondering if she'd done the right thing by offering her help. She hadn't realized how much opening old wounds would hurt, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. "Would you accept personal experience as an answer and we move on?" Sam shot her a look that said he most definitely would not accept that, and she sighed, turning her head to stare out the window. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

"Not that you care about my sad life story, but my parents were hunters. My mother was killed by a wendigo when I was eleven. My brother blamed our Dad for Mom's death and took off the day he turned eighteen, leaving me with Dad. FIve years later, Dad was hunting what he thought was a low-level demon in Rapid City, but it turned out to be a succubus that infected him with the same virus Hope has. When he got sick, I didn't know what the hell to do."

Aisy took a deep breath, blowing it through puffed cheeks. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, and she refused to let Sam see them. She blinked them away, clearing her throat as she continued. "I scoured all the lore books Dad had on demons, and that's how I found out about the fever. The hallucinations had started by then, and I had to chain him up in the cellar behind our house while I searched for the ingredients to cure him."

"So what happened?" Sam said after a few minutes of silence. Aisy shook her head, twisting her fingers in her lap as she stared straight out the window and swallowed hard. 

"I found everything else easy enough, even the angel blood—although it was challenging. But the _Oxalis enneaphylla_ , that's not native to the United States. It only grows in the Falkland Islands and Patagonia. Very rare—and very expensive."

"So how did you find it?"

"I didn't," Aisy said, gritting her teeth. "It found me. Or rather, a broker of sorts found me. I was in this little metaphysical shop in Casper when this guy walks in and the owner points me out to him. He walks over, takes my arm, and says, 'I have what you need, but it's going to cost you.' He drags me out into the parking lot, and I go willingly because by this point I'm desperate and just trying to save my dad. The guy drove me out into the woods near Casper Mountain and introduced me to this other guy, who hands me a pouch full of the stuff and tells me to go save my father."

"It wasn't that easy though, right?" Sam said. The late afternoon sun glared through the windshield; the golden rays washed across Aisy's face and glinted off the unshed tears in her eyes as Sam cast a glance at her and then turned his attention back to the road.

"It never is," Aisy muttered, shaking her head. Sam nodded, gesturing for her to continue the story. "I got back to my house, but Dad was dead by the time the cure was done. His ashes were still warm when the two men came for me." 

"I'm so sorry," Sam said, trying to keep the piteous look out of his eyes. Aisy glared at him, then quickly looked away. 

"I don't need your pity, Sam. Your forgiveness isn't what I'm after here," Aisy snapped, balling her fists in her lap.

"Then what are you after?"

"After the guys showed up, they dragged me back to Casper Mountain. The payment for the _Oxalis enneaphylla_ was that I had to join their nest, but I never got the chance." Aisy propped her elbow on the door, covering her mouth with one hand as she stared out the window. 

"Why?" Sam gave her a sidelong glance, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. Vampires. He should've known this woman was hiding something. It didn't matter now though, he'd tear through a thousand vampires if he had to because that's what his family needed him to do.

Aisy sighed, turning her gaze toward Sam. "Because my brother showed up. He traded his life for mine and made me promise to hunt down the demon that killed Dad."

"And did you?"

"I always keep my promises, Sam," Aisy said, scrubbing her face with her hands and wiping away the stray tears that fell. "Even when it costs me a decade of my life and everything I love. I killed that succubus three years ago, bought the bar, and retired from the hunting life—until you and your brother showed up, that is."

Sam stayed silent long enough that Aisy chanced a glance in his direction. She wasn't sure what reaction she'd been expecting, but silence definitely wasn't on the top of the list. His jaw muscle twitched as he ignored her, and she sighed as she turned her gaze back out the window. Typical. 

"So," Sam said, breaking the silence between them. Aisy sucked in a breath, determined not to let him see how much the sound of his voice startled her. "What happened to your brother? Do you know?"

Aisy shook her head, avoiding Sam's gaze. "As far as I know, they turned him. I haven't seen or heard from him since. In the spirit of honesty, I'm not even sure the nest is still there. If it isn't—"

"We'll worry about that if or when the time comes, alright?" Sam interrupted, shaking his head. He still hadn't looked in her direction, and Aisy supposed she understood why. They were most likely walking into a trap, and even with everything else going on, she still hadn't been candid about her true motivations for wanting to help Hope. Did Sam know the real reason? Aisy supposed he might, given what she'd heard about the Winchester brothers' devotion to family. 

They rode in silence for the next two hours. Aisy dozed part of the way, the side of her head pressed against the cold glass of the window and letting the rumble of the Impala's exhaust soothe her frayed nerves like a lidocaine balm to the soul. Her eyes snapped open as the car slowed, and Sam nudged her shoulder. 

"We're here," he said as the car idled along the main street of a tiny village nestled at the bottom of a mountain. "Which way?"

Aisy sat up, peering through the windshield into the darkness beyond the reach of the Impala's headlights. "Follow this road out of town. There's an abandoned church about three miles down the road, take a left and follow the road until it dead ends."

"Got it," Sam said, nodding once and setting his jaw. He didn't look at Aisy; he couldn't bring himself to. She wasn't Ruby; Sam knew that, but he couldn't help the feeling of panic that washed over him when he realized she still hadn't told him the entire truth. It didn't take a genius to figure out Aisy expected one of two outcomes on this little suicide mission. Death or redemption. Sam just hoped it was the latter—for both of their sakes.

Aisy sighed again, letting the silence settle between them like a heavy cloak. It was almost suffocating, and she forced herself not to leap from the moving car and take her chances alone in the darkness with God only knew what trying to kill her. Sam still hadn't spoken when they passed the church, and with every mile, the lead weight in Aisy's stomach sank further. She could do this, she told herself repeatedly. She _would_ do this—for Jake and for Hope.

The Impala slowly crawled as the pavement ended, replaced with a rutted dirt path, barely wide enough for the car to pass through. Crudely painted wooden signs were nailed to trees on either side, their ominous messages close enough to touch as the car passed. 

"Stop here," Aisy commanded, unbuckling the lap belt. "We'll have to go the rest of the way on foot. I hope you walk fast."

Sam did as Aisy said, shifting the car into park and cutting the ignition. "Are you sure you know where you're going? We should probably wait until morning to go on a wild goose chase through the mountains."

"There's no time, Sam," Aisy snapped, jerking the door handle and climbing out. "You can stay here if you want, but I'm going. As a matter of fact, it's probably better that way. At least one of us is guaranteed to get out alive if we do it this way."

"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, climbing out of the car and resting his arms on the roof as he stared at Aisy in bewilderment. "No one is dying today, Aisy. Do you understand me?"

"Speak for your damn self," Aisy muttered, pulling her duffle bag out of the back seat and gearing up for the trek up the mountain. Her movements were sure and practiced, the kind that only comes with years of intense training, and Sam watched this woman he barely knew with an estranged sense of awe and something else. He shook it off, opening the trunk and grabbing his own gear. 

Aisy stood, tossing the mostly empty duffle back into the Impala and slamming the door. "You ready?" she said, ignoring the slight fluttering of her heart when Sam's head appeared over the trunk lid. She couldn't make out his expression in the darkness, but she didn't have to. Without even realizing it, she'd already memorized every single one of his features, and she could feel his worry as he regarded her with a questioning look. It unnerved her more than she wanted to admit, and she didn't wait for an answer before turning and stalking off into the darkness.

It didn't take Sam long to catch up, and Aisy stifled a screech when he touched her. "Sorry," Sam said, holding up his hands. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Aisy snapped, jerking away from him. "Let's just keep moving."

"Aisy—" Sam called after her, rolling his eyes as he followed. Aisy ignored him, continuing to pick her way up the mountain. "Aisy! Dammit!"

"What?" Aisy hissed, rounding on him. "Keep your voice down! Do you want every single creature on this mountain to know we're here?"

"Says the one who screeched when I touched her," Sam shot back. Aisy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, turning away again. Sam anticipated her movement, grabbing her wrist. 

"Not nothing," Sam said, keeping a firm grasp as Aisy tried to jerk away. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth is," Aisy said through gritted teeth as she escaped Sam's grasp. She took a deep breath, rubbing her wrist with her free hand. "The truth is, only one of us is going to make it back to Hope alive, Sam, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that it's you. You just have to trust me, alright?"

"I do trust you," Sam said, shaking his head. "But you obviously don't trust me enough to tell me this was a suicide mission."

"It's not a suicide mission—not for you anyway. You'll go home to Dean and Hope, Sam, I swear it."

"No," Sam said, ignoring the icy tendrils of fear that snaked around his heart. "We both get out of here alive, or neither of us goes. That's the deal."

"Sure, Sam," Aisy shot back. "Let's go with that plan. So we both live and Hope dies. Do you think Dean will forgive either of us if that happens? I mean, I haven't known you guys all that long, but something tells me the answer is no. Trust me, it's better this way."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "I don't believe that."

"We don't have time for this," Aisy said, turning away. "Are you coming or not?"

"Fine," Sam sighed. "Lead the way."

Aisy nodded, picking her way up the path, keeping an ear trained to the mountain's nocturnal sounds, on high alert for any danger. They climbed in silence for a while before Aisy stopped short, almost diving behind a huge boulder and pulling Sam down into the shadows. 

"Aislinn?" a gravelly voice called through the darkness. "Stop hiding, you little bitch, I can smell the stench of your fear."

"Sam," Aisy said, turning to whisper in his ear. "No matter what happens to me, you get the _Oxalis enneaphylla_ and get the hell out of here, understand?" 

Without waiting for an answer or protest, Aisy put on hand on the side of Sam's neck and pulled him close, pressing her lips to his in a desperate kiss that breathed new life into every nerve in her body. Of course, the only time her body and soul came alive at the same time was when she was staring down the jaws of death, Aisy mused as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sam in a similar state of bewilderment.

Aisy circled around and stepped onto the path in the opposite direction from where Sam was hidden. "I'm here, Marcus," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. Sam watched in horror from his shadowed hiding spot behind the boulders as two vampires grabbed Aisy by each arm, showing their fangs and sniffing her neck and hair. 

"Hey, you wanna get handsy, you gotta buy me dinner first, assholes," Aisy said, twisting in the two vampires' grasp. Sam stifled a grin, his lips still tingling from the kiss. "C'mon, Marcus. Knock off the dramatics. I just want to see Jake."

"Jake?" Marcus replied, tucking a hand under one elbow and gesturing with the other. "Jake who?"

"My brother, dickbag," Aisy growled, her heart pounding in her ribcage. "Where is he?"

"Ah, yes," Marcus said slowly, turning away from Aisy to show he didn't regard her as a threat. "I'm afraid your dear brother is dead, my dear. He didn't even survive an hour after you ran away like a scared rabbit. If only you'd stayed and held up your end of the bargain. Your brother might still be alive. It's a shame really. You could've been so much more than you are, Aislinn."

"You son of a bitch!" Aisy shrieked, flailing wildly as the two vampires relieved her of her weapons. "I will rip you to shreds! Do you hear me?"

"I'd like to see you try," Marcus crooned, turning and taking her chin in his hands. He recoiled as Aisy spat in his face, and he dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of her neck as he wiped it away. Marcus clicked his tongue, releasing his hold on her. "You always were a stubborn one, weren't you, Aislinn?"

"You have no idea," Aisy snarled, spitting at him again. Marcus rolled his eyes, then punched Aisy in the jaw, knocking her out. 

"Crazy little bitch," Marcus muttered, wiping his face again and gesturing for the others to follow. 

Sam slinked out from behind the boulder, stepping silently as he followed the foursome deeper into the wooded mountainside. The smell of wood smoke filled Sam's nose, and he bit back the urge to sneeze. It was only a matter of time before the vampires sensed his presence, and while Sam had no doubt he could take four vampires without hardly breaking a sweat, the way Aisy talked about them, the four were probably only a fraction of the total. 

They finally reached a vast rustic cabin nestled in among the trees, and Sam stuck to the shadows as the three vampires and Aisy entered the house. He counted four—no five vampires patrolling the property's perimeter, and who knew how many more inside. Sam swallowed hard, willing himself to think. He pulled the pistol from the waistband of his jeans, checking the magazine. He'd loaded it with the last eight dead man's blood bullets, but that wouldn't be enough. Aisy was partially right; this was quickly turning into a suicide mission. 

Sam made his way around the back of the cabin, his machete in one hand and the pistol in the other, taking out three of the outside guards silently and stacking their heads in a bowling pin formation on the front porch before slinking back into the shadows to lie in wait for the others. He didn't have to wait very long before one of the remaining guards sounded the alarm, and another dozen vampires came running out of the cabin.

"Son of a bitch," Sam seethed under his breath, suddenly wishing they'd dragged Dean along for this adventure. No doubt Dean would be in the perfect mood to kill over a dozen vampires right now. As it was, Sam was tired and just wanted the whole ordeal over with. Sam pushed the thought from his mind and forced himself to focus on the task in front of him. "Well, here goes nothing."

~~~~~

Marcus stood on the porch of the cabin, anticipating the chaos descending upon his home as Sam Winchester stepped out from behind the trees and challenged his soldiers to a fight. This was all he needed, he thought sourly. "Should've left that little bitch for the mountain lions," he muttered, disappearing inside the cabin and shoving open the cellar door. 

Aisy blinked as Marcus flipped on the light, jerking against the ropes that bound her wrists as a single flickering bulb dangled precariously just above her head. She shuddered as mice and other creepy-crawly things scurried into the shadows. Her head pounded a slow thud in time with the ache in her jaw. "Were you expecting company, my love? Don't you know three's a crowd?"

"Fuck off," Aisy spat as Marcus backhanded her. Her head spun with the impact, and she glowered up at Marcus as she spat blood on his leather shoes. "You're dead, Marcus, it's only a matter of time."

"I am thousands of years old," Marcus said with a condescending smile. "One little hunter is no match for me."

"He's not just _any_ hunter," Aisy retorted, a slow, feral grin spreading across her face, revealing a row of straight, bloodstained teeth. "He's Sam Winchester. Maybe you've heard of him."

"Can't say that I have," Marcus said, but the note of nervousness in his tone was unmistakable, and Aisy's grin widened even more. 

"Liar," Aisy spat again, the crimson glob of blood landing at her feet. "He's going to kill you, Marcus. And even if he fails, even if you manage to kill him, you'll spend the rest of your existence looking over your shoulder for his brother, so you might as well give up now."

"Not a chance," Marcus said, leaning over Aisy until his nose was almost touching her own. "Your hubris will be the end of both of you. You think I don't know why you're here, Aislinn?"

Aisy glared at Marcus, refusing to react to his baiting. He chuckled, his fangs glinting in the jaundiced cellar light. Bile rose up into the back of her throat as the scent of his putrid breath washed over her face, and she fought the urge to vomit. The floorboards above their heads creaked with the sounds of scuffling, and Marcus's grin widened as he stood up and stared at Aisy in triumph. 

"This is going to be so much fun to watch," Marcus said, leaning in toward Aisy again. "You didn't save Jake, you couldn't save your father, and now—Sam Winchester's blood will be on your hands. Believe me sweetheart, if what you say is true, I won't be the only one his brother will hunt when Sam dies."

Aisy threw her head forward, her forehead connecting with Marcus's nose. He roared, taking a step back and holding his nose in his hand as blood seeped through his fingers. "You're going to pay for that, you little bitch!" Marcus opened his mouth wide, his fangs extending as he grabbed Aisy's hair, jerking her head back and leaving the side of her neck vulnerable. He moved in for the kill, and Aisy closed her eyes, her pulse thundering in her ears as she waited to die.

"You first," Sam growled from somewhere behind Marcus. Something warm and wet splattered across Aisy's face, and she opened one eye to see Marcus's head rolling across the packed dirt floor of the cellar. His face was twisted into a surprised grimace, and Aisy blinked in astonishment. She turned her gaze toward Sam, drinking in the sight of him. 

He stood slightly hunched, his face streaked with blood and dirt as he met her gaze with soft, concerned eyes. Aisy swallowed hard, then jerked her chin toward Marcus's head. "Nice work," she said, hoping he didn't notice the heat crawling up her cheeks as she searched the depths of his eyes in the dim light. _It's him. He's the one you've been looking for, you silly, romantic girl._

Aisy cleared her throat, ignoring the voice in her head and forcing herself to breathe as Sam untied her. "Are you hurt? Did you get bitten or anything?"

"Only my pride," Aisy croaked as she shook her head. She clamped her mouth shut, not trusting herself to keep it together. "C'mon, we've got some _Oxalis enneaphylla_ to find." 

Aisy brushed past him, heading for the stairs. She turned as she reached the bottom step, regarding Sam with sad eyes. "Thanks, Sam," she whispered as the ghost of a smile played across her lips. "You saved me from becoming one of those things, and I won't forget it."

"It was nothing," Sam replied, "you would've done the same thing for me, I'm sure."

"Maybe," Aisy teased, "but it definitely wouldn't have happened with quite as much style. Let's get that ingredient and get the hell outta here, what do you say?"

Sam nodded, overwhelmed by an urge he didn't quite understand, and he caught Aisy's wrist as she turned away and started up the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder in confusion but didn't resist as he pulled her toward him. "What is it?" 

Sam said nothing, placing his hands on either side of Aisy's face and pressing his mouth to hers. She inhaled sharply, reeling from shock and surprise before quickly recovering and returning the kiss, burying her hands in his hair. 

Aisy pulled away first, her heart hammering in her chest as she took slow, deliberate breaths. "Sam, I—"

"I'm so sorry," Sam said, taking a step back and giving her a half-smile. "I don't know what made me do that."

"I-It's fine," Aisy said with more confidence than she felt. "It's—fine." She turned on her heel and headed up the stairs, refusing to look back and see if Sam was following. 

She sucked in another breath as she absorbed the wake of the carnage Sam left behind him on his mission to save her. Every single vampire in the cabin was missing their head, and the wood floors were slick with blood as Sam and Aisy made their way upstairs toward Marcus's room. The door was locked, and Aisy shook her head as Sam reached for his lockpicks. 

Sam stared at her with a raised eyebrow as she grinned at him and then kicked the door open, Sparta style. She shrugged, then disappeared through the doorway, stepping around the broken pieces of the wooden door. "What can I say? I have a little pent up aggression. Getting kidnapped and held in a cellar will do that to a girl." 

"Note to self," Sam muttered, rifling through a stack of papers on Marcus's desk before yanking on the desk drawers. After a thorough search of the room, Sam and Aisy stood back to back, scanning the room in annoyance. "There's nothing here, Aisy," Sam sighed, running a hand down his face and refusing to allow the exhaustion to overwhelm him. When was the last time he slept?

"Shhh," Aisy gestured, walking to the window that overlooked the cabin's front porch. "Let me think." She gazed through the glass, her vision blurring until she couldn't see the woods outside any longer. The first streaks of light shone in the Eastern sky, blues and purples splashing across the woods in the abstract light of dawn. 

Sam watched Aisy from across the room, fascinated by the slight movement of her lips as she chanted in a language he couldn't understand. He should be terrified, or at the very least wary, that Aisy was not as human as she claimed to be, but he wasn't, although he wasn't entirely sure why. She closed her eyes, then opened them a second later, staring straight at him.

"It's in a safe downstairs," Aisy said, brushing past Sam and bounding down the steps. "Let's go."

He followed her down the steps automatically, knowing at that moment he'd most likely follow her anywhere she wanted to go. He leaned against the wall, trying to stifle a grin as Aisy ripped a horrid painting down from the wall above the fireplace mantle and revealing a safe with a biometric lock. Aisy turned to Sam with a questioning look, and Sam sighed, pushing himself off the wall and heading for the cellar. 

"You're the best, Sam," Aisy called after him, poking her head around the corner to see him send a middle finger her way. "Aww, love you too."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, shaking his head as he bounded down the cellar steps. He was still grinning to himself as he used his machete to lob off Marcus's right hand. 

Aisy glanced up at Sam as he entered the room, holding out Marcus's severed hand out like a gift. "Aww, Sam. You shouldn't have," she teased. "You know just what to get a girl to make her go all mushy inside, don't ya?"

Sam rolled his eyes, holding out the severed hand. "Just take the damn thing and get this over with," he said, chuckling lightly. 

"Sure thing," Aisy said, trying not to touch the icy fingers any more than necessary as she pressed the fingers into the safe's lock. She dropped the hand unceremoniously when the lock clicked and yanked the safe door open. It was overflowing with cash, alchemy ingredients, and jewelry, and Aisy's eyes went wide as she stared inside. 

"There's gotta be fifty grand in cash here. Marcus must have been collecting this stuff for centuries," Aisy breathed, picking up various jars and vials. "Some of this stuff is extinct. Come on, let's find something to haul this stuff back in."

"Is there any _Oxalis enneaphylla_ in there?" Sam asked, grabbing a duffle bag from the linen closet. 

"Right here," Aisy said, dangling a leather pouch in front of Sam's face as he entered the room. "Let's go." Sam nodded, helping Aisy to shove the safe's contents into the bag.

Sam zipped the bag, throwing it over one shoulder and picking up his machete. "You ready?" 

Aisy nodded as she retrieved her own machetes from the corner of the living room where they'd been discarded without a second thought as she'd been carried inside the cabin. "Let's go save Hope."


	29. Out in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW for this chapter:** Pregnancy loss/Ectopic pregnancy is mentioned in this chapter. There's nothing too graphic, but it's there in the last part of the chapter, so you've been warned. This chapter is also a bit shorter than the others so that those that wish to skip this part don't miss what happens next. 😘

"What the hell is the point of having a cell phone if you never answer the damn thing?" Dean growled into the speaker of his phone, ending the call and resisting the urge to throw the phone against a wall. He glanced over his shoulder toward Hope, his eyes falling on the crumpled note Sam left for him before taking off in Baby and leaving him stranded here in the hospital. 

Fury, terror, and worry all clawed at his insides, leaving Dean with the overwhelming urge to bolt again. He could just get in the car and just drive until the road ended, leaving all of this nightmarish bullshit behind, right? 

_If you do that, Hope will never forgive you_. Dean sighed, running a hand down his face as he turned away from the window and flopped down in the chair next to Hope's bed. He took her hand, pressing his lips to the translucent skin of her palm. Her fingers were cool, and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he traced the lines of her veins with his fingertips. 

_She'll be better off without me. Her and the kid. Who am I kidding? I'm not cut out to be anyone's father—I can barely take care of myself!_ Dean closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair and letting out a heavy sigh. There was a time he'd thought saving the world was an enormous responsibility, but this—this was so much more overwhelming. Taking care of Sam while growing up was one thing; at least if Sam turned out terribly, _technically_ it wasn't Dean's fault—he could just blame John Winchester's excellent parenting skills—or lack thereof. If Dean stuck around and screwed this kid up, that was all on him. 

_And how screwed up do you think this kid will be if you bail?_ Dean didn't have an answer, and he wasn't sure he wanted to contemplate it all that closely. Hope was a good woman, and she'd be a wonderful mother. She'd figure out a way to make up for Dean's absence in their lives, he was sure of it. 

The monitors next to the bed started screeching, and Dean jumped out of the chair and grabbed Hope's hand again. "No! No!," Hope screamed as she thrashed on the bed, her eyes moving frantically beneath her closed eyelids. "You can't have him! You can't take him! No! Dean!"

Terror ripped through his chest like a machete through paper as doctors and nurses flooded the small room, shooing him out into the hallway as they worked to stabilize Hope. "Hurry up, Sammy," Dean muttered as he sank into a chair in the hallway and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. He was exhausted to his very core, certain that even if he slept for a month, he'd never feel rested again.

Dean's phone rang, startling him as he shoved his hand in his pocket to find it. "Sam?" he growled into the phone. "It's about damn time."

"Hello to you, too," Sam said, his tone betraying the eye roll Dean couldn't see. "We're a couple hours out from the hospital. Bobby is supposed to meet us there. Has he showed up yet?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head and glancing down the hallway toward the elevators. "Wait—he just got here." Bobby stepped out of the elevator and looked around, shifting the duffle bag he carried on his shoulder, his eyes lighting up when he saw Dean waving from his spot outside Hope's room.

"Great," Sam said, the tone of relief in his voice unmistakable. "How's Hope? Any change?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, shaking his head as Bobby approached. "It's not good, Sam. The monitors went crazy and she started screaming and then they ran me out of the room."

"Dammit," Sam said. "Alright, you and Bobby get the cure started and I'll get here as quick as I can."

"Hurry, Sam," Dean said, all of the earlier fury dissipating in that instant. He'd forgive Sam anything as long as Hope lived. The line went dead, and Dean shoved the phone back into his pocket. 

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said, standing up to greet him. Bobby nodded, pulling Dean into a hug. 

"Hey, son. How's Hope?" Bobby asked, glancing through the half-closed blinds into Hope's room. 

"Not good," Dean said, turning toward the door as the doctor emerged. He sucked in a breath and held it as she approached him, her mouth set in a grim line. 

"Hope is stable, for now," the doctor said. "We had to put her under some very heavy sedation. There's not much else we can do for her. I'm sorry."

Dean bit his bottom lip, taking a step backward. Bobby's gaze darted between the doctor and Dean, and he nodded toward the doctor. "Thanks, doc." The doctor nodded as she turned and walked away. 

"I can't lose them now, Bobby," Dean whispered, his earlier thoughts about leaving Hope alone to raise their child forgotten. "I can't. We have to save her."

"Well I guess we better get to work then," Bobby said, nodding toward the door. Dean nodded, leading Bobby inside. "Here, bleed into this bowl."

Bobby held out a copper bowl, and Dean frowned as he took it and set it on the rolling bedside table. He pulled the knife from the waistband of his jeans, hissing through his teeth as he sliced open his palm and dribbled several dozen drops of blood into the bowl. Bobby went to work mixing the rest of the ingredients as Dean kept a watch at the door for unexpected visitors. Dean glanced at him occasionally, watching in amazement as Bobby worked, wishing he'd paid more attention to the lessons Bobby tried to give him all those years ago about what ingredients do what. 

"It's done," Bobby said finally, glancing at Dean with a questioning look. "All we need now is for Sam to get his ass here with the last ingredient." Dean nodded, scanning the hallway for any sign of Sam and doing the best he could to ignore Bobby's piercing stare.

"Did I hear you right before?" Bobby asked, frowning at Dean. "When you said you can't lose _them_? There something you wanna tell me?"

Dean closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the door frame. "Not exactly," he muttered, shaking his head against the frame. He sighed again, turning to face Bobby. "If don't tell you, Sam will, so—"

"Well, spit it out then," Bobby said gruffly, and Dean closed his eyes again. 

"Hope's pregnant," Dean said, every muscle in his body tensing as he said the words, waiting for a punishment that didn't come.

"What are you gonna do?" Bobby asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Dean opened one eye, then the other, blinking at Bobby in bewilderment.

"That's it?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "No 'what the hell were you thinking' or 'how stupid can you be?'"

Bobby shrugged, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leaned back in the chair next to Hope's bed. "Nah, it seems like you covered all the high points already. Besides, I ain't John. If you're expecting me to tear you a new one because I think you screwed up, you're gonna have to look elsewhere for that, son. That being said, I recognize that look in your eyes. Every instinct inside is telling you to run; but do yourself a favor. Don't. You'll never forgive yourself, and that woman there," Bobby tilted his head toward Hope, not breaking eye contact with Dean. "She might be able to overlook a lot of things about you, but you bailing when she needs you the most won't be one of them."

"What the hell am I gonna do with a kid, Bobby?" Dean sighed, sinking into the other chair and keeping an eye on the slightly open door. 

"You're gonna man up and be the dad you and Sam deserved all along," Bobby said, flashing a half-smile. "I have faith in you."

"That makes one of us," Dean muttered as the door swung open and Sam entered, slightly breathless and holding out a leather pouch to Bobby.

"Dude, did you run the whole way back from Wyoming?" Dean said sourly, his brows knitted in concern. He might still be pissed at Sam for running off and leaving him behind like a misbehaving child stuck in a timeout—nevermind that's exactly how he was acting, but it didn't stop him from worrying about his baby brother.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said, exhaling a long breath. "The elevator was going too slow, so we took the stairs." 

"We?" Dean glanced toward the door and saw Aisy leaning casually against the frame.

Dean gave Sam a questioning look, then looked back at Aisy. "Hey, bartender. I guess we have you to thank for this?"

"Hey, drunk guy," Aisy quipped, a slow smile creeping across her face. "Don't thank me yet. Save it for when she wakes up."

"Do I even want to know how you got this?" Dean asked, watching Bobby as he finished mixing the horrid smelling concoction. 

"No," Sam and Aisy said in unison. Dean cocked one eyebrow, his gaze darting between the two of them, and Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly. 

"Trust me," Sam said, avoiding Dean's piercing glare. "You don't want to know."

Bobby struck a match, dropping the flame into the bowl and muttering a Romanian incantation as the mixture inside smoked and hissed as though it had taken on a life of its own. He picked up the syringe, uncapping it and dipping the needle into the swirling mixture. 

"Bobby?" Dean questioned, his eyes darting from the bowl to Bobby and back again. Bobby ignored him, concentrating on drawing the mixture into the needle. He didn't look up until the contents of the bowl were safely inside the syringe, holding it up triumphantly. "Is that—" Dean swallowed, glancing nervously at Hope's helpless body, "safe?"

Bobby shrugged. "I doubt it was meant to be used on someone in Hope's condition, but what choice do we have? Do you want to just let her die?"

"No, Bobby! Of course not," Dean replied, scraping his teeth across his lower lip as he ran a hand through his hair. He gestured for Bobby to continue, taking one of Hope's hands in his own. 

Bobby took a deep breath, then nodded to himself and pressed the needle into Hope's neck. They all held their breath as Bobby pushed the plunger and the violet liquid disappeared beneath her skin. Hope jerked and groaned as the potion spread through her body, and Dean tightened his grip on her hand. 

"Come on, sweetheart," Dean whispered, brushing his lips across Hope's knuckles, her skin almost burning his lips. "Please come back to me."

Hope's body went rigid, and they all stared in horror as all the monitor alarms went crazy, and she began to convulse. The hospital staff rushed down the hallway toward the commotion as Aisy swept everything off the bedside table into Bobby's duffle bag, kicking it into the far corner as the four of them were ushered out into the hallway. 

Dean stared unblinking through the window into Hope's room, watching but not seeing the commotion going on inside. Sam and Aisy stood on his left, Bobby on his right. "This wasn't supposed to happen," Dean whispered. "Was it?"

Rage spread through Dean's veins like wildfire, and he did the only thing he knew how to do when the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "You," he growled, pointing his finger at Aisy, "You knew this would happen. Didn't you? Was that your plan all along?"

"Dude," Sam snapped, placing himself between Dean and Aisy, "are you even listening to yourself right now? Aisy didn't do this to Hope. You know that."

"No, Sam, I don't," Dean said, scratching absently at the stubble on his face. He sighed, pointing toward the elevator. "I'm gonna take a walk."

"Don't run off too far," Bobby said, giving Dean a pointed look as he walked away. Dean turned toward him, his arms spread wide and a sardonic smile on his lips.

"How can I?" Dean said, "Shaggy over there still has my car keys." He turned back toward the elevator, pushing the button harder than necessary. 

When the elevator doors closed behind Dean, Bobby turned toward Sam and opened his mouth to say something, but Sam beat him to it. "I'll go make sure he doesn't get himself into more trouble," Sam sighed, nodding a questioning look toward Aisy.

"I'll be fine," Aisy said, gesturing at Sam, "go keep your brother out of trouble." Sam grinned at her, then jogged toward the elevators. 

"Oh, and Sam?" Bobby called after him. Sam turned, and Bobby held out a hand. "Leave the keys. Can't have Dean pickpocketing you and taking off." 

"Right," Sam said, fishing the keys out of his pocket and tossing them through the air. Bobby caught them one-handed and nodded to Sam. "Thanks, Bobby. For everything."

"Don't mention it," Bobby said, turning his attention back toward Hope's room. 

Once Sam was gone, Bobby glanced sidelong at Aisy, then turned toward her. "With everything going on, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Bobby Singer."

"I'm Aislinn Mallory," Aisy replied, holding out her hand. "You can call me Aisy, everyone does. I know who you are; my Dad used to talk about you all the time. He said you saved his life once or twice."

"Mallory," Bobby murmured, trying to place the name as he shook Aisy's outstretched hand. "Wait, is your father Jason Mallory?"

" _Was_ Jason Mallory," Aisy said with a small nod. "He died—thirteen years ago, when I was barely sixteen. Him and my brother both."

"I'm sorry," Bobby said quietly. "I didn't know. How did he die?"

"You're looking at it," Aisy said, nodding toward the room. "I didn't get the cure in time, and he died from this very same virus." 

Aisy stared through the window, avoiding Bobby's piteous gaze. She hated telling other hunters anything about her background because their 'poor sad orphan Aisy' faces made her want to punch holes in cement walls. Icy tendrils of unease clawed at her gut as she watched the people moving inside Hope's room, but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what was wrong. 

A nurse glared over her shoulder, her jet black eyes staring through the glass that separated them. "Son of a fucking _bitch_ ," Aisy muttered, pushing away from the window and trying to open the door. It wouldn't budge, and she gestured to Bobby for help. "Please tell me you saw that."

"Yep," Bobby said, pressing against the door with all his strength. "I dunno how much Sam has told you about Hope, but we better figure out a way to get this door open fast. The entire world depends on it."

"Wait—what?" Aisy said, pressing her back against the door and digging her heels into the floor for leverage.

"Just trust me," Bobby growled, "c'mon, push!"

The floor beneath them began to tremble as the walls vibrated and plaster dust fell from the ceiling all around them. The stairwell door flew open, and Sam and Dean raced down the hallway, pressing with all their strength against the door as a brilliant blue light filled the room on the other side. 

An invisible force held the screeching demons inside the room as they left their hosts' bodies, burning up against the blazing blue light. After a few moments, the walls and floor stopped quaking, and the door swung open, sending the four of them stumbling into the room as the bewildered hospital staff stood up and dusted themselves off. 

Dean held out a hand to help the others up, glancing around the room in confusion. “What the hell just happened? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Bobby shook his head, stepping out of the doorway as terrified hospital staff ran from the room. “Whatever it was, it was more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t an angel, I can tell ya that. Angels wouldn’t have bothered with exorcism, they would’ve smited first and asked questions later. I’ll know more once I get home and I can do some research.”

Everyone turned toward the bed when Hope sucked in a gasping breath, her eyes snapping open as she sat bolt upright in the hospital bed. "Dean!"

"Hope!" Dean raced to her side, all of his questions and fears forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck and hair to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. He'd almost lost her—again. How the hell did anyone live like this? The fear of losing her alone was enough to send him to an early grave; he was sure of it. Adding a child to that equation was like trying to put out a wildfire with gasoline. "You came back to me," he whispered incredulously into her hair. 

Hope squeezed Dean tighter, then pulled out of his embrace to look him in the eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Of course I did. There's no other place for me, Dean. I love you."

Dean took Hope's face in his hands without a word and kissed her, hard and urgent. What happened in this room a few moments before fell to the wayside, and right then, all that mattered was that Hope was awake, and they were together. Dean would worry about how that happened later. 

"Uh, guys," Sam said, glancing around the room nervously. "I don't mean to break up the happy reunion, but we should probably go now."

"Right," Dean said, releasing Hope and standing up. "Can you walk?"

"I-I'm not sure," Hope said, dangling her feet over the edge of the bed. She stood, stumbling slightly before righting herself. "Yeah, I think I'm good. Let's go." She removed the IV and monitor leads with expert precision, and Aisy stared at her in fascination as she worked. 

"Hope's a doctor," Sam murmured to Aisy as he brushed past her to retrieve the duffle bag she had kicked into the corner. 

Aisy shook her head, turning away quickly and heading for the elevator. She wasn't sure why Hope being a doctor intimidated her, but the feeling was annoying, and she was suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. Maybe it was the slight note of awe in Sam's voice when he mentioned it, which could've been anything, Aisy reminded herself harshly. Besides, Hope and Aisy hadn't even been introduced yet and she'd have to be an idiot to think Hope had eyes for anyone but Dean.

Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Hope drew curious stares from hospital patients and staff as they moved down the hallway toward the elevators, and Aisy watched them as she held the elevator doors open for them. Hope seemed to be walking fine on her own, but the three men surrounded her protectively, alert for any sign she might be ailing. 

_It must be nice to be treated like such a princess. She probably doesn't know the first thing about being a hunter._ Aisy caught her grimacing expression reflected on the back wall of the elevator and took a deep breath through her nose as she forced herself to unscrew her features. 

_Jealousy is not a good look on you, Aislinn_. Her mother's voice echoed inside her head, and a blush of shame crept up her neck, setting the skin beneath her shirt collar on fire. It was probably a good thing she was going home. Once again, she'd done what she set out to do, and everyone could go back to their lives now. She was better off alone, anyway. That was just the way her life was destined to be, she supposed.

They all said their farewells to Bobby in the parking lot, and Sam, Dean, Aisy, and Hope piled into the Impala. Hope sniffed the air, retching involuntarily as she slid into the front seat. "Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ, guys! It smells like the Rat Pack threw a kegger in here! What the fuck did you two _do_ while I was in the hospital?" Sam pointed an accusing finger at Dean, who glared back at him as he backed the car out of the parking space.

Aisy pressed her lips together to stifle a smile as she stared out the window. Alright, so maybe her initial thoughts about Hope were way off base. Too bad she wouldn't have the chance to find out one way or another because she was going back to her simple bartending life, far away from the Winchesters and whatever drama and, dare she say it—excitement—that might bring to her life. 

Aisy glanced around the car a few times as they drove to the motel, unsure of what the loaded silence in the car was about. She decided it was none of her business and stared out the window, ignoring everyone until they pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel and Dean parked the Impala next to a perfect replica of James Dean's Porsche.

"What the hell?" Aisy breathed, staring out the window at the shiny silver convertible. "Why would someone who owns a car like that stay in a place like this?"

Sam snickered, nudging Hope's shoulder. "Yeah, Hope. Why is that?"

Hope rolled her eyes at Sam and flashed Aisy a grin over her shoulder. "Because," she said, drawing out the word, "it's what you do when the man you're with loves Magic Fingers almost the same as he loves you." She gave Dean a pointed look, and he shot her a lopsided grin. 

"It ain't my fault you can't give a massage like that, sweetheart," Dean said, chuckling lightly. "Nothing beats the Magic Fingers."

"I'm a surgeon, Dean. Not a masseuse," Hope shot back, rolling her eyes as Dean and Sam laughed.

"That's your car?!" Aisy blurted, her eyes wide. "It's beautiful."

Hope nodded, a soft smile curving her lips as she turned in the seat. "Technically it was my mother's but she left it to me. I'm Hope, by the way, but I'm sure you already knew that. I'm assuming you helped these two with whatever cured me?"

"Something like that," Aisy said, clearing her throat and casting a sideways glance at Sam in a silent plea for help. 

Sam cleared his throat and nodded. "Right, Hope this is Aislinn—Aisy. We wouldn't have been able to save you without her help."

"I'm not sure that a simple thank you is enough for saving my life, but thank you. You have no idea how much I owe you," Hope paused, glancing around the car at Sam, Dean, and Aisy, "how much I owe all of you."

"Don't mention it. Not to be rude, but—" Aisy said, changing the subject, "I really need to get home."

"Right," Dean said, tossing the Porsche keys to Sam. "Sam, why don't you take Aisy home and meet us at Bobby's?"

"I am perfectly capable of driving my own car, Dean," Hope snapped, her eyes narrowing. She knew full well why he wanted Sam to take her car, and she wasn't ready to talk about what happened yet, or for him to tell her that he'd be leaving her behind when he and Sam went out hunting again. 

"I know you are," Dean said, nodding to Sam, who got out of the car. Aisy grabbed her duffle bag from the floorboard and followed silently, desperate to be away from what was quickly turning into an awkward conversation. Once the doors closed, Dean continued. "We just need to talk."

"No we don't," Hope said. "I know what you're going to say, but Dean, what happened wasn't my fault, and you're not going to dump me off at Bobby's while you and Sam go risk your lives hunting God knows what. We had a deal."

"Yeah, well, that was before," Dean growled, avoiding her gaze. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Before what?" Hope said, her brows knitting in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? Why didn't I say anything about what?"

"Hope," Dean said, pressing his lips into a grim line as he stared at her, "I know about the baby."

Hope sputtered, coughing as she tried to catch her breath in the suddenly airless space. "What are you—" she shook her head firmly. "No, that's not—it can't be." Hope frowned at Dean, her features wrinkled in confusion. "What? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"No, but that does answer one of my questions." Dean waved to Sam, then backed out of the parking space and headed out of town. 

"What question is that?"

"Well, see, you tell me you can't have children because of what those assholes did to you, and then next thing I know the doctor is telling me that you're pregnant. Kinda makes a guy wonder about some things, ya know?"

"I suppose it does," Hope said quietly, staring out the window to avoid Dean's occasional glaring glances. "Look, Dean—"

"It's fine, Hope," Dean said, holding up one hand and speaking in a tone that said it was most certainly _not_ fine. "Just—please tell me you didn't know before you insisted on coming on this hunt."

"I didn't know for sure. I suspected when I had to pull over and puke on the side of the highway, but I thought I was just hungover, because my Ob/Gyn said it would be impossible for me to have children after—"Hope cleared her throat, not wanting to finish that sentence. "I was on my way to the drugstore to get a test when I ran into Jesse."

"So that's why you told me and Sam to go and leave you behind?" Hope nodded, and Dean shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. 

"I honestly didn't think it was that, but I needed to be sure. After what happened last time—"

"Last time? What the hell do you mean, last time?" Dean snapped, stomping the brakes and guiding the car to the shoulder before turning his glare on her. "You were pregnant before?"

Hope sighed, running a hand down her face and covering her mouth with one hand. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Dean cried. "You were _pregnant_ , Hope! You were pregnant, and-and—"

"And then I wasn't," Hope finished for him, unwilling to elaborate further. 

"Did you—you know?" 

"What? No!" Hope said defensively. "I didn't have an abortion, Dean! It was an ectopic pregnancy." She forced herself to not roll her eyes at his confused expression as she continued. "The baby implanted in the tube, instead of the uterus like it's supposed to. When that happens, the pregnancy isn't viable and has to be terminated or it can be life-threatening. In my case, by the time I found out I was pregnant it was too late to do it without surgery, and part of my tube had to be removed to save my life. My doctor told me I'd most likely never have children after that."

"When was this?" Dean demanded, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at Hope. He was angrier than he ever remembered being with her, and if he looked at her now—well, whatever happened next wouldn't be pretty. He wasn't willing to risk losing everything now because of something that had obviously happened years before. 

"Roughly ten weeks after that night," Hope replied, shuddering involuntarily and refusing to look at Dean. "Remember that two weeks that I was super busy and we only talked on the phone?" She cast a quick glance in his direction, and seeing Dean's nod, faced the window again before continuing. "I wasn't working, I was recovering from surgery."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, shaking his head. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've been there; or I don't know—something. You didn't need to go through that alone, Hope."

"Why do you think I didn't tell you?" Angry tears stung Hope's eyes, and she sniffed, blinking them away. "Do you really think I wanted to give you any more reasons to feel sorry for me? I was my burden to bear, and I carried it, just like I did all the others. Given how things ended between us then, it seemed like a good decision at the time."

Dean recoiled as though Hope had slapped him, and he bit back an angry retort. She wasn't wrong, but that didn't make the words sting any less. "That was harsh," he said quietly.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Hope said, settling herself back into the seat as silence fell between them. _So much for a joyous reunion_ , Dean thought sourly as he pulled the car back onto the interstate and settled himself in for a long, silent ride to Sioux Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an example of the dangers of writing a story the way I do--without an outline. I often think that I am not the author of this story, these characters do what they want and I write up the incident report, which means each new chapter is as much a surprise to me as it is to you, the reader. I truly hope you've all enjoyed the ride so far, and that you will stick with this story to the end, because I don't know about you, but I am _dying_ to know how it plays out. 😀
> 
> Screaming? Theories? Keyboard smashes? Lemme know down below 😘


	30. Come With Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning in this chapter: Hope's rape and pregnancy loss are mentioned, but no details. Just FYI.

"So," Aisy said as she opened the passenger door of Hope's car and climbed inside, settling her duffle bag in the floor between her feet. "Hope seems nice."

Sam shot Aisy a sideways glance as he settled himself behind the wheel. The ghost of a smile played at his lips as he studied her. "So does being snarky come naturally to you, or do you have to work at it?" he joked.

"I can't help it, people make it easy," Aisy shot back, shrugging one shoulder. "But I honestly think she's nice, Sam."

"Oh," Sam replied with a slight smile. "Yeah, she's pretty great." 

Aisy raised an eyebrow, giving Sam a questioning look. Jealousy twisted in her gut again, and she mentally cursed herself for being so easily swayed by her silly romantic notions of finding someone to love. "Not that it's any of my business, but Dean doesn't strike me as the type to share."

"What?" Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "God no, it's not like that. Hope is—she's like a sister to me. I do love her, but not like _that_. The three of us have known each other a really long time, and we've been through a lot together. She's good for Dean; she makes him laugh. I know you don't know us that well, but that—that's huge." 

"Oh," Aisy said quietly, embarrassed she'd let her out of control jealousy to cloud her judgment—again. "Sorry, I—" she shook her head. Nope, she wasn't going there. "You know what? Never mind."

Sam nodded, a tiny smirk curving one corner of his mouth as the sign for the Twisted Horse Saloon came into view as they rounded a bend in the interstate. They still hadn't spoken as Sam steered the car into the parking lot, gravel crunching loudly beneath its tires. He parked sideways in front of the bar, cutting the ignition and turning toward Aisy.

"So, uh—" he cleared his throat, glancing away, "I know Hope said it earlier, but thank you. For everything. You didn't have to help save her, and—"

"Don't mention it, Sam," Aisy said quickly, jerking the door handle and climbing out of the car before she lost all of her dignity and begged Sam to take her with him. She leaned in through the open door and grabbed her bag, giving him a cheeky smile. "You know where to find me if you need anything."

Sam didn't have time to reply as Aisy shut the door and walked toward the bar. It was better this way, she told herself as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to watch Sam drive away. Aisy sighed, blinking back unexpected tears as the Porsche's tail lights disappeared over the hill. It was a ridiculous dream, really, that someone like Sam would be interested in her, a girl with no home, no family, and a truckload of trust issues and secrets to boot.

Aisy sighed, flipping on the lights as the door slammed behind her. Broken tables and pieces of shattered chairs were scattered everywhere across the large space, as though an invisible tornado had ripped through the room. Aisy's breath left her as she scanned the destruction, and she clenched her jaw when the dark figure standing at the bar turned around, holding up a half-full glass of bourbon in a toast. 

"Hello, Aislinn," he said with a predatory smile that made Aisy's skin crawl. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and praying that when she opened them, the room would be empty. "Nice try, my love, but getting rid of me will take more than wishing it were so."

"Obviously," Aisy grumbled, opening her eyes and glaring at him. "What do you want, Drexil? I thought we agreed to never be in the same room with each other ever again?"

"Is that any way to greet your husband?" Drexil purred, slinking over to where Aisy stood, like a cat stalking its prey. Aisy rolled her eyes, dropping her duffle on the floor and heading for the bar to pour herself a drink.

"Ex-husband," Aisy growled, slamming back a shot of tequila. "You didn't answer my question. What the fuck are you doing in my bar? And why does it look like you let a horde of flying monkeys loose in here?"

"You first, love," he said, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What the hell were you doing with Sam Winchester?"

"That's none of your business, Drexil," Aisy fumed through gritted teeth. She had a feeling he'd still been watching her all these years, but knowing for sure hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. "I'm not your wife anymore, which means what I do is not your concern."

"You're wrong, love," Drexil said smoothly, taking a sip from his glass. "Everything special about you is because of me, which means I own you. What? Did you think you'd be able to walk away that easy? And steal from me on top of that? Not a chance." 

"I didn't steal anything," Aisy growled, unfastening the leather cord tied around her wrist. She murmured an incantation under her breath, and the coiled cord grew heavy in her hand as it transformed into a snakewhip. "That key was a family heirloom, Drexil. It belonged to my grandfather. You think I don't know the only reason you pretended to love me was to get your filthy warlock hands on it?"

"Now that's just hurtful, Aislinn," Drexil replied, tilting his to one side as his eyes darted toward the whip she held in her hand. He'd seen first hand the destruction Aisy could cause with that thing if she chose to, and dying wasn't on the top of his to-do list right then. "It wasn't the _only_ reason. Tell me, does Sam Winchester know what you are? Has he seen the havoc you wreak when you lose control of your emotions? I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he finds out. The Winchesters are like beasts, you know, and once they have your scent, they'll hunt you to the ends of the Earth like the killers they are.

"I don't use my magic anymore," Aisy said, tightening her fingers around the whip handle. "I've had enough of this, Drexil. If you've come for the key, you'll get it over my dead body."

"Come now, love," Drexil said with a shrug. "Don't be like that. I don't want to kill you, Aislinn; so just give me the key so I don't have to. You stupid girl, you don't even know what it opens, do you? It's the key to the biggest treasure trove of supernatural items in the entire world. Do you have any idea how much some of those artifacts could be worth?"

"It doesn't matter. You're not the first monster I've killed while protecting it—and I'm sure you won't be the last," Aisy replied, uncurling the whip as she stepped out from behind the bar and gestured to Drexil with her free hand. "Let's get on with it then."

"As you wish," Drexil said, snapping his fingers and producing a ball of flames, sending it hurtling at Aisy's head. She ducked, rolling out of the way as the fireball flew past her, shattering the liquor bottles lining the shelves behind the bar and igniting the alcohol-soaked wood.

"Still with the same old tricks. You'd think you'd learn something new after a few hundred years," Aisy said, a feral grin spreading across her face as she flicked the whip, wrapping it around Drexil's wrist as he tried to snap his fingers again. The fireball he'd attempted to conjure fizzled out as Aisy jerked the whip, sending the warlock sprawling across the pieces of broken furniture littering the barroom floor. He stared up at her with amusement in his eyes as she sauntered toward him, curling the leather whip around her hand and murmuring the incantation to return it to its original form. 

"You're something else, you know that?" Aisy squatted next to him, wrapping the leather cord safely around her wrist again before letting her hands dangle between her knees as she stared at him with cold eyes. "You come into my bar, accuse me of being a thief, and then you set the place on _fire_?" She gritted her teeth, wrapping her long fingers around his throat and squeezed, her manicured black nails digging into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. "At least if I kill you now, I'll be free of you for good."

Rage boiled the blood in Aisy's veins, and the flames behind the bar surged in response, devouring everything in their path like a starving animal as the walls and ceiling of the bar ignited all around them. She squeezed harder, and Drexil sputtered, his hands twitching at his sides as a flaming beam dropped from the ceiling nearby. "Aislinn," he croaked, gasping for breath, "Aislinn, please. You loved me once. You're not a murderer."

"You don't know anything about me, Drexil," Aisy said, shaking her head as a wry smile curved her full lips. "I never loved you. I used you, that's all. You were a means to an end, and you've far outlived your usefulness to me."

"Maybe," Drexil groaned, "but that doesn't mean I'm just going to let you kill me." He snapped his fingers and Aisy flew across the room, propelled by an invisible force as she exploded through the storeroom door. Her head connected with the wall, and she fell unconscious in a crumpled heap onto the old military cot Dean had passed out on not even two days before. "So long, my love," Drexil murmured as he stood up, coughing and dusting himself off. The flames licked every available surface as more of the ceiling crashed down around him. "One way or another, I'll see you again soon, and I will have what I came for." He snapped his fingers again, vanishing into thin air.

~~~~~

Sam shook his head, trying to shake the growing sense of nausea and unease that had plagued him since the left Aisy at the Twisted Horse. Everything inside him told him to turn the car around and go to her, and yet, he couldn't make himself actually do it. She was hiding something from him, he was sure of it, and he didn't want to go down the same road he had with Ruby. What if Aisy was another demon, or worse?

The connection he'd felt with her when he first laid eyes on her had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The powerful high of the demon blood Ruby fed him didn't even come close to feeling like that, and that thought alone was more than enough to terrify him. What if it was another trick? He couldn't allow himself to fall into some trap because he longed so badly for what he'd had with Jessica or what Dean had with Hope. He'd never gotten around to asking Dean what it had felt like the first time he laid eyes on Hope, and his mind wouldn't let go of the possibility that maybe Dean and Hope weren't the only ones with mirrored souls.

 _Sam! Help!_

Sam gasped, shaken from his rambling thoughts as the words filled his mind like a scream. He stomped on the brakes, making a u-turn in the middle of the interstate, slinging loose gravel from the shoulder as he spun the tires and headed back in the direction of Aisy's bar. The Porsche purred beneath his hands as Sam curled his fingers around the steering wheel, nudging the car to go faster.

The smell of smoke filled his nose long before Sam could see the bar, and he choked back the bile that rose into his throat as he topped the hill and saw the Twisted Horse completely engulfed in flames. "What the hell?" Sam said, skidding the car to a stop in the gravel parking lot. He didn't bother to take the keys as he jumped out, tying his flannel shirt around his head before running in through the shattered front door.

"Aisy!" Sam called, his voice muffled by the roaring flames and falling embers. "Aisy!" He picked his way through the destroyed room, his lungs burning and eyes watering as he dropped to his knees to try and get fresh air. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, coughing harder as he crawled through the debris toward the storeroom. 

Aisy groaned as she tried to open her eyes and pain shot through her head. What happened? Something crashed outside the storeroom, and her eyes flew open as she remembered the fire. She rolled off the cot, crawling toward the door and coughing as thick smoke burned her lungs. The muffled sound of Sam calling for her sent a nervous tingle through her body. Was he really here, or was Drexil just trying to trick her?

"Sam! Is that you?" Aisy coughed, crawling along the floor as her name echoed over the sound of the flames again. "Sam!"

"Aisy!" Sam said hoarsely, catching sight of her crawling toward him. "Are you alright?"

Aisy shook her head, blinking as what was left of the room spun around her. "No, but we'll both be dead if we don't get out of here. C'mon." She took Sam's hand, leading him toward the back exit. A few feet from the door, a deafening crack pierced the air, and Aisy glanced up just as the fire burned through one of the rafters directly above Sam, sending it hurtling toward the floor, leaving a trail of flames behind. 

"No!" Aisy screamed, throwing out her hands and telepathically catching the beam, tossing it in the opposite direction away from them. She froze, realizing a second too late what she'd done as she stared into Sam's wide, incredulous eyes. "C'mon," she said, gesturing toward the exit and crawling away. "You can hunt me after we get out of here."

Seconds later, Sam and Aisy burst through the exit door, to be met with lights and sirens as the fire truck and ambulance rolled into the parking lot. Sam took deep, gulping breaths of the crisp air as Aisy pulled him farther away from the burning building. Firefighters rushed past the two of them as EMT's wrapped them in blankets, guiding them toward the ambulance and strapping oxygen masks on each of their faces. 

"You two were lucky," one of the paramedics said. "How did the fire start?"

"Not sure," Aisy said with a small shrug. "I was catching a nap in the storeroom before the evening rush and I woke up to the whole place on fire." 

Sam watched Aisy lie through her teeth and wondered what the hell was going on for about the dozenth time since she saved his life. Aislinn Mallory was definitely not human, and Sam wasn't sure how to feel about that. Dean would want her dead when he found out, and there was no way to keep something like that a secret for long. 

"Sir?" the paramedic said, waving his hand in front of Sam.

"What? Oh, sorry. What did you say?" Sam said with a sheepish smile.

"I asked what you were doing here," the paramedic replied with exaggerated patience.

"He saved my life," Aisy blurted, giving the paramedic her most convincing smile. Like I said, I was asleep in the backroom and he saw the fire and came to find me."

"I see," the paramedic said, not sounding convinced. "Well, don't go anywhere. The sheriff will need to take your statement for the report."

"Thank you," Sam whispered, setting off a round of hacking and coughing. His lungs felt like someone poured hot coals inside them, and every breath he took reminded him of a boa constrictor squeezing his chest. 

Aisy watched Sam's face change three shades as he coughed and pressed the oxygen mask harder to his face. "C'mere," she whispered, gesturing toward him. He gave her a wary glance, then shifted his gaze to the paramedic who had gone to find the sheriff. "Sam, I can help your pain, but you have to trust me."

Sam shook his head, then coughed again, wheezing and gasping so hard that Aisy didn't wait for his permission. She placed one hand on the front of his chest and the other on his back. "Sana, respirare, caeli," she murmured. Almost instantly, the constriction around Sam's chest lessened and he finally caught his breath.

"What are you?" Sam said, and Aisy tried not to think about the meaning behind his words. He no longer saw her as a woman, and perhaps he never did, but being referred to the same way as the monsters she'd spent her life hunting hurt more than she'd anticipated.

"Does it matter?" Aisy replied with a soft sigh. "As soon as this is over, you and Dean are going to hunt me anyway. It's what hunters do, right? Stab first, ask questions later?"

"Dean used to," Sam croaked, taking a couple of breaths and testing his lung capacity. "Now he at least _tries_ to talk first, then stabs. I think we have Hope to thank for that."

"Here's the deal," Aisy said, dropping her voice to a whisper as the sheriff glanced their way. "I'll tell you anything you want to know if you'll distract everyone long enough for me to get into my apartment. There's a floor safe that I need to empty before I leave. It's got some family heirlooms and a few other things that might be hard to explain to anyone that isn't a hunter, ya know?"

Sam nodded, gesturing in agreement and watching in horror and fascination as Aisy walked around the side of the ambulance and snapped her fingers, disappearing into thin air. His mind raced with the possibilities of how useful an invisibility spell might be when he felt a heavy hand touch his shoulder. Sam turned toward the sheriff, flashing his most innocent smile. 

"Can I help you?" Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Where did your friend go?" the sheriff said, glancing around the ambulance for Aisy. 

"She, uh, had to make a phone call," Sam said, shrugging. "Insurance company."

"Mhmm," the sheriff said, eyeing Sam dubiously. "So do you want to tell me what happened here, son?"

"First of all," Sam said, his tone steel beneath the polite surface, "I'm not your son. And like she told the paramedic, I saw the smoke and went inside to see if anyone needed help. That's all."

"You didn't see anyone leaving the premises?"

"No, sir," Sam said, shaking his head and glancing around for Aisy. She waved to him from the corner of the burned-out building, casually strolling to Sam's side.

"Hey," Sam said, giving her a lopsided smile, "all done on the phone with the insurance company?"

"Yes," Aisy said, not missing a beat. "They're going to send someone out in a couple of days to assess the damages. Are we done here?"

"For now," the sheriff said, eyeing the two of them with suspicion. "Don't go too far."

Sam and Aisy both nodded in response, and Sam let out a breath as the sheriff walked away. "So, did you get whatever you were after?"

Aisy nodded, taking Sam by the arm and leading him toward Hope's car. "I will tell you everything, but not right now. Please just trust me for a little while longer, Sam."

Sam nodded, clamping down on the apprehension threatening to overwhelm him. He leaned against the hood of the Porsche, crossing his legs at the ankles and watching the firefighters finish their work. His phone buzzed, and he finished it out of his pocket. 

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, pressing the phone to his ear. "How's the drive?"

"Silent," Dean said. "Hope and I aren't talking at the moment. How are you?"

"Well, I, uh, haven't left Nebraska yet," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was a fire at the Twisted Horse Saloon after I dropped Aisy off."

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Aisy's okay too, but to be honest, I don't know what happened. She promised to explain once the cops are gone."

"I _knew_ something was off about her, Sam. I knew it."

"Why? Because her bar burned down? Come on, Dean. Look, the sheriff's coming back. I gotta go. I'll call you soon." Sam shoved the phone back into his pocket, pushing off the car to stand up to his full height.

The sheriff sauntered over to them and put his hands on his hips. "You two are free to go, but stay available in case we have any more questions, understood?"

"Got it," Sam said with a smile. He nodded toward Aisy as he opened the door. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I believe I owe you an explanation," Aisy replied as she slid into the passenger seat.

Sam started the car, stifling a yawn. "I hope you don't mind, but I need to find a place to crash for a few hours. I can't even remember the last time I slept."

"No problem," Aisy said with a strained smile. "There's a motel about twenty minutes up the interstate."

"That'll work."

A half-hour later, Sam parked the car outside a garish motel painted with tropical colors. Sam growled as he opened the motel room door and collapsed face-first into the only bed. Aisy rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her and eyeing the bed longingly. She was exhausted, but she wasn't about to fall asleep next to a man that might kill her while she slept. Instead, she settled herself into the armchair in the corner of the room, propping her feet up on the ottoman.

"Aisy," Sam said, his voice muffled by the pillow. He lifted his head, his eyelids drooping heavily as he brushed the hair out of his face. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping myself safe—ish," Aisy replied, rolling her eyes. "You're a hunter, Sam. Inevitably you'll do what hunters do, and I'd like some dingy motel room out on the ass end of nowhere to not be my final resting place, thank you very much."

Sam groaned, propping his back against the wall as he gave her an 'are you stupid' look. "You're a hunter too, or have you forgotten?"

"I _was_ a hunter," Aisy corrected. "My parents were hunters, and I was raised as one, but it's been years since I've considered myself a true hunter. True hunters wouldn't see me as one, either."

"Maybe not," Sam said, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. A colossal yawn escaped him as he shook his head, trying to force himself to stay awake. "But I'm not most hunters, and I'm too exhausted to try and kill you right now. From the look of it, you're exhausted too. So why don't we make a deal? Nobody kills anybody, and we both get a few hours sleep in this bed, what do you say?" Aisy nodded, crawling into the bed next to Sam as he curled onto his side, back facing her. She did the same, and within moments they were both snoring softly.

Sam opened his eyes several hours later, disoriented and unsure of what year it was. He swiped grumpily at the hair covering his face before realizing it wasn't his own. He glanced at the back of Aisy's head as he smoothed her hair and tried not to think about how naturally she fit in the space next to him. There was still the unsettling matter of her not being human, although that revelation didn't exactly surprise him. He'd known something was different when they were in the cabin, and he'd seen the anti-possession tattoo on her side when she'd cleared out the safe, which only left magical options. 

Sam was shaken out of his thoughts by the incessant buzzing of his cell phone on the end table, and he turned it on its edge to look at the caller ID, grumbling under his breath as he sat up and answered the call. 

"Sam?" Dean demanded, his voice crackling through the speaker. "Where the hell are you? You should've been here hours ago!" 

Sam yawned, checking the bedside clock and supposed knowing what time it was would've been more useful if he'd been aware of what time it was when they got there. He glanced out the window, still dark. Well, that was something, at least. "Yeah, sorry Dean. I was too tired to drive so I got a motel to grab a few hours of shut eye. We'll be on the road soon. Tell Hope her car is fine."

"You can tell her yourself, when you get here. I'm still not talking to her."

"Because that's mature. What the hell happened anyway?"

"She lied to me, Sam. About something pretty big."

"You mean about being pregnant? The doctor said she probably didn't know." Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw Aisy still sound asleep. He slipped on his boots and walked outside, leaving the door slightly open as he talked.

"She was pregnant before, Sam. After the rape. One of those shitstains got her pregnant."

"And? Did you not think it was a possibility? What happened to the baby?"

"She said she had an ectoplasmotic pregnancy, and they had to do surgery on her to save her life. That two weeks she was super busy right before everything went to hell? Yeah, she was recovering from _surgery_ , Sam! She lied to me all that time."

"You mean— _ectopic_ pregnancy?" Sam stifled a grin as he continued. "I mean, do you blame her, Dean? She'd just been through the worst time in her life, only to have to wade through more shit on top of it. And then with everything that happened between you two; I mean, I get it."

"You know what I meant, college boy. Whose side are you on, anyway?" 

"The side where you two fucking _talk_ to each other."

"Not helping, Sam."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. _Talk_ _to her_." Sam held the phone in front of his mouth, speaking directly into the speaker, and then pressed it back to his ear as Dean growled a sigh into the phone.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "Get your ass back on the road, and soon."

Sam chuckled, hearing Dean's eyes roll through the phone. "Bye, Dean." He ended the call, laying the phone beside him on the hood as he leaned back and contemplated what he could see of the sky. The motel parking lot was lit up too much to see any stars, but the vastness of the sky held the first pink and gold streaks of dawn, and he let his mind wander into what to do about Aisy. He was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn't notice when she appeared in the doorway.

"Sam?" Aisy said, frowning as she stuck her head out the door. "What are you doing out here?

"Dean called, and I didn't want to wake you," Sam replied, groaning slightly as he pushed himself off the car. "How are you? Did you sleep alright?"

"I mean, this place isn't the Waldorf or anything, but yeah, I slept alright," Aisy said with a grin. Sam chuckled, not missing the flash of sadness and worry in her eyes, and he wondered what it could be about. It was gone an instant later, replaced by a mischievous glint. "So I'm gonna shower real quick and then we can hit the road. Wanna join me?"

Sam was already nodding in acknowledgment to hitting the road, and he choked, coughing so hard his face turned crimson. Aisy laughed, calling over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the bathroom. "Relax, Sam. I was kidding. This shower is entirely too small for both of us."

Sam snorted as he gathered up the clothing items Aisy had dropped outside the bathroom door and shoved them into her duffle. His hand smacked against a small wooden box etched with an Aquarian Star, and he picked it up, turning it over in his hand. "What the hell?" He muttered as he studied the box, not noticing the water in the shower had stopped running.

"Find something interesting?" Aisy said, walking out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around her body as she used another to squeeze water from her chestnut brown curls.

Sam dropped the box into the duffle and zipped it up, turning toward her with a sheepish smile. He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the various rune-like tattoos that covered her upper arms and shoulders. He stifled a smile at one tattoo on Aisy's right shoulder blade of Princess Leia wearing a bikini and straddling a 20-sided die. "Not on purpose, I was getting stuff together to load the car and I found the box in your bag. Is that what was so important you had to go back for it?"

"Yes," Aisy replied, twisting her hair up into the towel and eying Sam warily. "And no. It's complicated, and I don't make it a habit to tell my life story to people who will eventually try to murder me." She stared at him for a moment, then grabbed her duffel bag and walked away, muttering, "I learned that one the hard way."

"Why do you think I'm going to kill you, Aisy?" Sam snapped. "Why would I do that? You helped save Hope's life. Hell, you saved _my_ life! I would've died in that fire if you hadn't done what you did."

"A fire that you shouldn't have been in, by the way," she reminded him. "Why the hell did you come back anyway?" Aisy said, walking into the bathroom to put on her clothes.

"It's complicated," Sam replied, parroting Aisy's words back to her. "I just had a feeling something was wrong. You wanna tell me what happened?" 

"That," Aisy said, stepping out of the bathroom and tossing her bag to Sam, "is a story for the road. Over breakfast. And coffee.”


	31. All or Nothing

Sam parked the car in front of the gas pump, glancing at Aisy. "Hope you don't mind, but breakfast is going to have to be to go," Sam said with a wry smile. "Dean is going to lose his mind if I don't show up soon."

"I get it," Aisy said with an easy smile. "He worries a lot, doesn't he? My brother—Jake—he worried a lot too."

"That's an understatement," Sam said, chuckling as he climbed out of the car and started pumping the gas. 

Aisy climbed out too, closing the door and squinting at Sam in the bright morning light. "Any preferences?"

"Caffeinated and not full of preservatives," Sam replied, and Aisy shot him a grin over her shoulder as she walked away.

"One of these things is not like the other, Sam," she said with a laugh. "I'll see what I can do." 

A few minutes later, Aisy returned with two tall paper cups of coffee, a bag of barely bruised bananas and apples, and her personal favorite road trip food—trail mix with an extra king-size bag of peanut M&Ms. She slid into the passenger seat, handing one cup to Sam and taking a cautious sip from her own, wrinkling her nose at the bitter twang of the gas station coffee.

"Gas station coffee has had zero improvements since I stopped hunting," Aisy said, still grimacing. "How hard is it to make good coffee?"

Sam smirked, taking a sip of the coffee and making a face. "You're right; that is terrible."

"Told you," Aisy said, gesturing for his cup as she set down her own in the cupholder. "Let me see it." 

Sam raised an eyebrow, passing her the cup and watching as she took off the lid and moved her fingers in a circle around the inside edge of the cup. "Suavis, lac, crepito," Aisy murmured with a soft smile, replacing the lid and handing it back to him. "Here, try that."

Sam took another sip, nodding in appreciation. "That's incredible. If nothing else, Dean will want to keep you around for your coffee improvement skills alone."

"Yeah," Aisy said in a small voice, gazing out the window. "I suppose so."

Sam started the car, pointing it toward Sioux Falls as a heavy silence fell between them. Aisy curled her manicured fingers around the coffee cup, relishing the warmth against her palms.

"So I guess we've put off explaining myself long enough," she said finally, taking a sip. Sam nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. He wasn't sure what she might say, and he supposed it was better to get this out of the way now. Aisy took a deep breath, blowing it out and staring at the rows of corn as the scenery flew by.

"I lied," she started, glancing at Sam sideways, "to the sheriff, I mean. The fire in the bar wasn't an accident. Someone started it."

"There was no one there by the time I got there. Do you know who it was?"

"Yes." Another deep breath. "It was my ex-husband, Drexil. He was there when you dropped me off. From the way the bar looked when I walked in, he'd already been searching the place. He was there for the box that you found in my bag. He threatened to kill me if I didn't give it to him."

"Why didn't you tell the sheriff?" Sam demanded. "They could've found and arrested him."

"What was I going to say, Sam?" Aisy shot back. "Yeah, Officer, my warlock ex-husband lobbed a magical fireball at my head and accidentally on purpose set my bar on fire because he was after a box my family has been protecting for generations. I'm fine though, thanks for asking."

"Wait, warlock?" Sam asked, glancing at her. "Does that mean you're a—"

"Witch?" Aisy offered. She shook her head, taking another sip of her quickly cooling coffee. "No. I'm a sorceress."

"There's a difference?" Sam asked, his face scrunched into a confused frown.

"I see you were also raised with the witch, is a witch, is a witch mentality," Aisy muttered, shaking her head. "Actually, yes, there is a difference. A witch or warlock sells their soul for their power. A sorcerer or sorceress has what you might call natural magic. It's tied to emotion."

"Really?" Sam said, one corner of his mouth lifting. "I didn't know that. Does that mean you're like the Hulk when you get angry?"

A guilty look flitted across Aisy's features, replaced instantly by her stoic facade. "If you mean do I turn huge and green—no. But, I can be extremely destructive. I can't always control it, and since I killed the succubus, I haven't used my magic. At least not until—"

"The cabin," Sam said quietly, and Aisy shot him a surprised glance. "I saw you chanting to yourself while we were searching the house."

"You saw that, huh?" Aisy said, color darkening her cheeks as she glanced away. "Sorry, I just knew we were running out of time to search."

"Don't be," Sam said. "I get it, and in the end, it saved Hope's life, so I see nothing wrong with any of it."

"What about Dean?"

"What about him?"

"Won't he see something wrong with it?" Aisy stared at her cup, worrying her lip between her teeth as she contemplated the disconcerting feeling that washed over her. Why did she care what the Winchesters thought of her? The answer unnerved her more than the question itself, and she pushed the thought firmly from her mind. 

"Maybe at first," Sam said honestly, shrugging one shoulder. "But he'll come around. Especially after everything you've done to help." He paused, taking a breath before changing the subject. "So, you were married, huh?" 

Aisy rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee, then popped a handful of trail mix into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "Yeah. I was pretty messed up after I couldn't save my dad, and with Jake gone…" Her voice trailed off as she stared out the window before taking a deep breath and continuing her story. 

"Weird things started happening around the time I turned eighteen—things I had no way to explain," Aisy said, pressing her lips together as the early memories of her magical abilities flooded her mind.

"What kinds of things?" Sam asked, darting a glance at her.

"Well, for example, I'd lose things. Keys, phone, just little things. I'd search for them everywhere, and it would be like they'd vanished. I'd get pissed off and start mumbling in a language I still don't even recognize, then I'd turn around and whatever I was looking for would be lying there. It happened so much that after a while, I could go right to wherever the missing thing was."

"Just like the cabin."

"Exactly," she said, popping a few candy pieces into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, then continued. "I'd just gotten used to that when this guy, Drexil, shows up, tells me I'm some kind of superpowered sorceress, and he can teach me how to control my magic. I'm still not sure how he even found me, but I guess it doesn't matter now. It wasn't me he wanted, it was the box. It holds some sort of key."

"What does it open?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Aisy shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, but Drexil said something about it being the key that opens the largest cache of supernatural lore and artifacts in the world. All I know is that it was my grandfather's, and my family has always kept it safe. When my dad died, it fell to me to protect it."

"Have you ever tried to find where the cache is?"

Aisy shrugged again. "Not really. By the time I learned what Drexil was really after, he'd already convinced me to marry him."

"Were you in love with him?" Sam asked, wondering for a moment why the answer to that question mattered to him. 

"I thought I was," Aisy said honestly. "He was nice to me—at first. He took the time to teach me how to reign in my out of control emotions, although I never could figure out how to keep the jealousy in check."

"That explains a lot, actually," Sam said, smirking as he glanced at her. 

"Anyway," Aisy said, drawing out the word as she continued, "We'd been married about two years when I walked in on him going through my father's things. He'd found the key and admitted that's the true reason he even showed any interest in me at all. Once he figured out I didn't know the location of whatever that opens, our marriage was over. I spent the next three years trying to get away from him. When I finally did, it took another two years to track down and kill the succubus that murdered my dad."

Aisy chewed her lip and avoided looking at Sam. She didn't want to talk about what happened that night three years ago, but she had a feeling Sam wanted to know, even if he hadn't asked. "The night I found that demon—"

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," Sam said quickly. "I understand; something like that is personal."

"It is," Aisy said, nodding in agreement, "but I want to. The only other person that knows is Drexil, and he likes lording it over me. He told me that once you and Dean found out what happens when I lose control, you'll hunt me like the rest of the monsters. The more I think about it, the more I realized he wasn't wrong."

"Aisy, I—" Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, "I have no plans to hunt you. Ever."

"You say that now, but you have no idea what I'm capable of, Sam." Aisy shook her head, inhaling deeply as she propped her elbow against the car door and covered her mouth with one hand. "I lost control the night I found that succubus and innocent people died."

"Do you know how many innocent people died before Dean and I managed to lock Lilith away?" Sam asked, giving Aisy a sidelong glance. "I get it, believe me. I've done many things I'm not proud of, Aisy. So has Dean. It's what you do to right your wrongs that matters, and I think you know that. You could've stayed quiet about what you knew about Hope's condition. I'm sure your ex-husband wouldn't have offered to help, especially not without a guarantee of something in return. But _you_ did. You walked into a vampire's nest to try to help save a stranger. Evil people don't do that."

Aisy chuckled, shaking her head. "You have no idea how right you are. Drexil never did anything unless there was something he could gain from it. I only wish I'd learned that _before_ I married him."

Sam snorted, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Well, hindsight is a real bitch, you know?"

"That it is, Sam. That it is." 

~~~~~

Hope balanced on the porch railing, leaning back against the post as she kept watch over the salvage yard entrance, silently praying that Sam would _hurry the fuck up_ already. The six-hour drive from Nebraska to Sioux Falls had been almost unbearable, and the silence between her and Dean that followed made her want to grab him by the collar and shake him into unconsciousness. How one man could possibly be so stubborn was beyond her.

Hope sighed, leaning her head back against the post and closing her eyes, trying to ignore the muffled cursing coming from the direction of the garage, where Dean was currently venting his frustration by giving Baby a tuneup. She smiled slightly as she opened her eyes, sliding off the railing with a sigh—time to get this fight over with. 

She wandered down the steps to the garage, leaning against the overhead door frame and watching Dean work. No matter how frustrating he could be, there was no one else in the world that she would ever love more, and as much as his silence bothered her, she also understood it on some level. No matter how things ended between them the first time, he'd been with her through everything that happened that night, and she shut him out of the most significant part of that—because she'd been afraid of her growing dependence on another person. The problem was, she didn't know how to make him understand any of that.

"Dean," Hope said, pushing herself off the door and walking toward him. He ignored her, continuing to wipe the spark plug in his hand with a greasy rag. "Dammit, Dean, grow up. Giving me the silent treatment isn't going to fix any of this."

Dean didn't answer, and Hope rolled her eyes, running a hand down her face before shaking her head and turning to walk away. "It won't fix it," he said to her back, dropping the spark plug and picking up another. "It just keeps me from saying anything that makes it worse."

Hope stopped, closing her eyes and breathing as she turned back to Dean. "So—what? You're just going to ignore me because we might fight if you don't?"

"You got a better idea?"

"Yeah," Hope shot back, "I do. How about we try—I don't know— _talking_?"

"Fine," Dean growled, dropping the rag and spark plug onto the table and turning to glare at Hope. "You want to talk, let's talk. Let's start with how you shut me out of the hardest part of your life. I loved you, even then. All I wanted was to be there for you, and you couldn't even let me do that."

"I was protecting myself, Dean!" Hope cried, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "What the hell was I supposed to do? I had no idea I mattered that much to you, and it wasn't like you made it obvious. I had to deal with that alone, because if you had been there—" Hope closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath as she blinked away the tears. "What happened next would've been so much harder. It damn near killed me as it was."

"But you didn't know what was coming next," he said, shaking his head. "You just didn't trust me, Hope."

"I might not have known what was coming next, Dean, but you damn sure did," Hope said, her voice low and accusing. "So if you want to be upset that one of us was lying, take a look in the fuckin' mirror. I did trust you; you and Sam were the only people I trusted—and you broke my heart. What was I supposed to do?"

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he turned back to the table. "Exactly what you did," he murmured, sending everything crashing to the floor with an angry swipe of his arm. Hope inhaled sharply as tools clattered against the concrete floor, and Dean turned toward her with a guilty expression. "I'm so sorry, Hope. For all of it. I don't know what else I can say."

"Nothing," Hope said simply. "There's nothing you can say that will change what happened. We just have to figure out how to move forward—together. If not for us, then for this child. I love you, Dean; I will always love you, but I know this isn't what we wanted or planned. So the question is, what are we going to do? And before you say anything, there's something that I need to tell you."

"What?"

"I know how I was able to conceive this child," Hope said, taking a deep breath. "Atropos told me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, his brows furrowed as he stared at her like she'd sprung a second head out of her midsection. " _Atropos_ —as in the Moirai? She spoke to you? When?"

"In the hospital," Hope said, fixating her gaze on the back wheel of the Impala. "She appeared to me and said that this child is special, that he or she is the key to peace between humans and supernatural creatures. Everything was so fuzzy when I woke up I didn't remember until you said you knew about the baby. She also said when Cas took over my body and saved the three of us, when he healed me; it was everything. Inside and out. Look," Hope said, holding out her hand. It was steady, without the telltale tremor that came from going hours or days without a drink. "I haven't had a drink since Montana, Dean. Normally, I'd be a mess by now."

"But Cas healed you months ago, Hope," Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't think it works that way. There's got to be another explanation for that part of it. I do believe he healed everything else though. I just wish he'd said something before disappearing to wherever the hell he went."

"Me too," Hope murmured. "Maybe this was Atropos' doing, although I don't know if she has that kind of power."

"Well, someone does," Dean said as he bent to pick up the scattered tools and debris from the table. 

"What are you talking about?"

"Hope," Dean said, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders as he faced her, "something happened after Bobby injected you with the cure. You started convulsing and almost died. The hospital staff—they, uh, ran into the room, and—" Dean shook his head, running a hand across the back of his neck. 

"And what, Dean?"

"They were possessed—by demons," Dean said, dropping his hand heavily to his side. "They tried to attack you, and there was this bright blue light and then they all smoked out and burned up. We all tried to get inside the room, but the door wouldn't move until it was over."

"What the hell?" Hope whispered, taking a stumbling step backward. "How? Wh-Why?"

"Nobody knows," Dean shrugged. "I suppose that's why Bobby isn't back yet. He's probably out gathering intel on the newest player on the board. Tell me what else Atropos said to you."

Hope shook her head in bewilderment. "It's all kind of fuzzy now, but she said something about the key to fixing the fractured timeline being Lucifer and our child."

"Lucifer?!" Dean said. "And you listened to her?"

"Well, she _is_ one of the Fates, Dean," Hope said, shrugging. "Besides, what was I supposed to do? It's not like she didn't have a captive audience."

"Alright," Dean said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing Bobby's number. "Let's see if we get the story straight from the source."

Tires crunched on the gravel drive, and Hope walked outside while Dean talked to Bobby. A grin split her face at the sight of the silver Porsche idling toward the house. "Sam's here," Hope called over her shoulder. She didn't wait for an answer as she jogged toward the car, running her hand along the hood. 

"I took good care of her," Sam said, chuckling as he climbed out of the car and tossed Hope the keys. She caught them one-handed and pointed a finger at him.

"If she tells me anything different," Hope said, narrowing her eyes at him, "I'll shave your head while you're asleep. You hear me, Sam?"

Sam held up his hands in surrender, grinning at her. "You wouldn't dare."

"Would I?" Hope challenged. "Test me and find out."

"I'll just take your word for it, thanks," Sam said, gathering Hope into a bear hug and glancing toward Aisy as she got out of the car. "How are you and Dean doing?"

Hope rolled her eyes, stepping out of his reach. "He called you, didn't he?" Sam nodded but said nothing. "Figures. Well, he's at least talking to me now, so I guess that's something."

"Definitely," Sam agreed. "So, uh, Aisy is going to stay with us for a bit. There was an, uh, incident, at her bar and a fire destroyed it." Sam cleared his throat, glancing worriedly between Hope and Aisy as Hope raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"I see," Hope said after a few moments of silence. She glanced at Aisy and let out a soft sigh. "Well if anyone knows what it feels like being ripped from your life and tossed headfirst into this one, it's me. It'll be nice to have another woman around. Come on," Hope said, gesturing toward Aisy's duffle bag she'd dropped on the ground. "I'll show you where you can put your stuff."

Hope went to the door, and Sam nodded at Aisy to follow her. "Oh, and Sam?" Hope said, resting her hand on the screen door as she cast a pointed look toward the garage. "Go see your brother before he loses his mind." Sam grinned, giving Hope a half-hearted salute as he loped toward the garage, crossing the distance in no time. 

"Do they always do what you tell them to like that?" Aisy asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "Err, sorry. I didn't mean to sound so bitchy. It's been a rough couple of days."

"I'm sure it has," Hope replied, keeping her voice even. "Come on, I'll show you where everything is."

After a short tour of Bobby's house, Aisy dropped her duffle on the guest bed and turned to Hope, hesitating. Hope leaned on the doorframe, watching the younger woman with curious eyes. "You like him, don't you?"

"Who?" Aisy said, her brows furrowed in feigned confusion. Hope rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the frame and perching on the side of the bed, tucking her feet underneath her thighs.

"Sam," Hope said, wearing a patented Sam Winchester long-suffering bitchface. "Don't try to deny it." Her tone was teasing, and Aisy rolled her eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Aisy said flatly, tucking her chin to hide the bright color flushing her cheeks. 

Hope snorted, then shrugged and stood up. "Fine, have it your way. Just—do yourself a favor and work on keeping that green-eyed beast of yours under control, alright?" Hope headed for the door without waiting for an answer, pausing as she heard Aisy's voice behind her.

"Why did he do it?" She asked, staring daggers at Hope's back. "He says he's not in love with you, but that man ran himself ragged trying to save your life, while the one who claims to love you came into my bar and drank a fifth of whiskey and did fuck little else. So why did Sam think it was his responsibility to save you?"

Hope turned, one corner of her mouth tilted up in a smile. "I can tell you right now that Sam Winchester is not—and has never been—in love with me. As for what his reasons were, you'll have to ask him. As for what Dean did, all I can say is that there's a lot about those two that you don't know yet."

"What the hell does that mean?" Aisy asked, shaking her head as she unzipped her duffle and dumped it on the bed. Her hand closed around the box containing the key, and she sank onto the bed, gripping it against her palm as her fingers traced the outline of the carved Aquarian Star on the lid. 

"It just means—" the words died on Hope's lips as she saw the box in Aisy's hand. "Where did you get that?"

Aisy's head shot up, her eyes narrowed at Hope. "None of your business," she growled.

Hope held up her hands and shook her head. "Hey, whatever. I'm just trying to help. I recognize that symbol." She gestured toward the box. 

Aisy's brow lowered, her gray eyes burning into Hope with an icy fire. "What do you know?" Somehow Aisy didn't think Hope meant her harm or had any intention of trying to steal the key from her, but it did little to ease her natural suspicion of other people.

"Not much, I saw it in a book in Bobby's library when we were researching—" Hope swallowed, glancing away, "—something else. If you give me a minute, I'm sure I can find it again."

"That's not necessary, thanks," Aisy said with a tight smile, and Hope shrugged.

"Whatever," Hope said. "Let me know if you change your mind. I'll leave you alone." Hope left the room, closing the door softly behind her and returning to her spot on the porch. She stared out across the salvage yard, watching the clouds build on the western horizon. A storm was brewing, and somehow, Hope didn't think it had anything to do with the coming weather. 

A tiny smile played on Hope's lips as she watched Sam and Dean emerge from the garage, heads bent close as they talked. Even from that distance, Hope could see the lines of worry that framed Dean's eyes and mouth since Nebraska had lessened, and she couldn't help but chuckle as Sam made a joke about something Hope couldn't hear and Dean threw his head back, his whole body shaking with laughter. 

The screen door opened and Hope glanced at Aisy, who stepped out onto the porch and leaned against it, looking slightly sheepish. She nodded her head toward the two men, glancing sideways at Hope. 

"What's on your mind?" Hope asked, returning her attention to quietly watching the brothers' conversation. 

"You really love them, don't you?" Aisy asked, trying not to sound overly interested in the answer. 

"Of course," Hope said, a broad smile splitting her face. "They drive me nuts sometimes, but they're my family. Sam is like the little brother I never had and Dean—" Hope blushed a little as she leaned her head against the porch column. "Well, Dean is complicated. He's stubborn, he can be selfish at times, and he has that oldest sibling curse where he thinks no matter what he's always right. The thing is though, despite all his flaws, I love him with everything I am, and I know he loves me—even when he picks the complete wrong way to show it."

Aisy snorted, rolling her eyes. "I had an older brother with the same curse. I get it." After a short pause, she spoke again. "How did you know? That you were in love with Dean?"

Hope squinted at Aisy, but she avoided Hope's gaze, choosing instead to watch Sam. "Dean and I have always been complicated. I met him on the single worst night of my life, but despite everything, it was like my soul _knew_ him. It felt like I was home, and when I kissed him, I felt alive for the first time in my life."

"I see," Aisy murmured, reliving the memory of kissing Sam on the side of Casper Mountain. She could feel the electricity racing along her skin even now, sending tiny shivers up and down her spine.

Hope studied Aisy with a knowing look in her eyes. "It's none of my business, but there's something you need to know about the Winchester men. They don't give their hearts easily, but they love with their whole being when they do. You couldn't ask for a better man in your life than Sam. He's the most loyal man I know, next to Dean and Bobby, and he'll walk through hellfire if that's what his family needs. Just—if you go down that road, be sure. Sam deserves someone who loves the way he does."

Aisy nodded, saying nothing as she became more aware of how wrong she'd been about Hope the first time they met. "Hey," she said, "I'm sorry about earlier. I can be—" she shrugged, chewing her lower lip, "—a pain in the ass, to put it mildly. I have a jealous streak a mile wide, and I don't typically play well with others. Especially not when they're as intimidating as you."

Hope gave a very unladylike snort, shaking her head as a smile crept across her face. "What? Surely not."

Aisy flushed slightly as she nodded, and Hope chuckled, shaking her head. "Sam said you're a doctor, and the way he said it just—" Aisy shook her head, "I'm not anything like that. I dunno, it just hit me wrong, I guess."

"Well, I might be a doctor, but I'm certainly not a hunter. Not a good one anyway, if this week was any indication," Hope muttered. "But you are, I can tell. What I am good at, though, is research and study. So, the offer's still open if you want to find out what the symbol on that box means."

Hope stood up, stretching her back as she entered the house and headed for the library. She sat down on the couch, tucking her feet under her legs as Licorice mewed grumpily from the back of the sofa. "Hey, baby," Hope murmured, scratching the cat's ears. "Did ya miss me?"

Aisy leaned against the doorframe, watching Hope murmur lovingly to the green-eyed cat. "So where do we start?"

Hope glanced up, flashing a grin as she walked to a bookshelf in the corner. "Right here," she said, setting a stack of books on the desk and flipping open the top one. "Might as well get comfy, we're gonna be here for a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, and I apologize. It's a transitional chapter so I didn't want to stuff too much into it.
> 
> That being said, strap on your parachutes comrades, and enjoy the ride. What's coming in the next several chapters will blow you away...  
> I'm still not writing with an outline, but I do have several plans for this story, and I'm not above incorporating reader theories into the story either. 😉
> 
> Screams, theories, keyboard smashes?! Let me know in the comments below! 🥰


	32. Ends of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope, Dean, Sam, and Aisy have a chat with Atropos, and Aisy gets a lot of help with her mystery box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨ ** _Warning! Tooth rotting fluff incoming!_** ✨
> 
> A little calm before the storm, if you will. Enjoy! 😁

"Check this out," Hope said, turning the book she held toward Aisy. "According to this, the carving on your box is called an Aquarian Star, or the Unicursal Hexagram. It says here that it's a symbol for great magic and power and was once used to guard the gates of Atlantis."

"Awesome," Aisy snorted, shaking her head. "So for generations, my family has been tasked with guarding a key to a mythological city."

Hope rolled her eyes, shoving the book into Aisy's hands as she pointed to a passage further down the page. "No, smartass, Look."

Aisy skimmed the page, her eyes widening when she came to the spot where Hope's finger tapped the page. "This says it's a key to the now-defunct chapter houses for an organization called the Men of Letters. Do you think this could be it?"

"It's possible," Hope shrugged, "we'd have to do some more digging, but I'd say there's a pretty good chance."

Hope walked back to the desk, flipping pages in the book as she walked. As she turned a page, her knuckle sliced across the edge of the paper, drawing blood. "Dammit," she muttered, staring as a razor-thin line of blood welled on her finger. Aisy glanced up as Hope stuck the offending joint in her mouth. "Paper cut," she said, forming the words around her finger.

Aisy nodded, stifling a smile as Sam walked into the library. Hope pulled her finger out of her mouth and stared at it, momentarily confused. The blood was gone, as expected, but so was the telltale stinging of a barely-there open wound on the skin. She examined it closely and found no trace of the papercut. What the hell was happening to her?

"Hey, you two," Sam said, glancing at Hope with curious eyes. "What are you guys up to?"

"Hope was just helping me do some research about the origin of my box. We think it belongs to an organization that used to be called the Men of Letters. There's not much else to go on yet, but it's a start," Aisy said with a note of pride in her voice. 

"That's great," Sam said, flashing her a smile. "Hey, Bobby will be here soon, so Dean and I are going to make a supply run real quick. You guys want anything specific?"

The rumble of the Impala's exhaust echoed through the house. Hope's face fell, and she turned away quickly to hide it. "I'm good, Sam. Thanks for asking though." She made a show of reading the page, although she didn't see a single word in front of her. Sam nodded, glancing at Aisy in question, and she shook her head, her gaze darting between Sam and Hope. Sam nodded, disappearing out of the house. 

Hope slammed the book shut, returning it to its place on the shelf and glancing over her shoulder at Aisy. "I'm not feeling all that great. I think I'm gonna lay down for a bit. We can pick this up again later." Without waiting for an answer, Hope left the library and headed for the guest room. 

Hope sighed, kicking off her boots and curling onto her side as she fought the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. How were they supposed to move forward together when there was always an invisible wedge between them, pushing them apart? Dean's silent treatment hurt more than she'd ever care to admit, no matter how much she might've understood his reasoning. 

_This would be so much easier if we weren't so terrible at communication_ , she thought sadly, sighing again as a soft knock came from the door. Hope said up, leaning back against the headboard. "Yes?"

Aisy stuck her head inside the room and gave Hope a timid smile. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hope lied, waving Aisy into the room. "I'm just tired. Sorry I bailed on you."

"It's okay," Aisy shrugged, folding one leg under her as she sat on the edge of the bed. "I get it. I know it's none of my business, but I'm guessing things have been tense between you and Dean since the hospital."

Hope's expression tightened, and she lowered her gaze, studying the stitching on the quilt next to her. "What gives you that idea?" she said, trying to keep her tone light.

Aisy snorted, turning her face to the ceiling as she grinned. "I'm a bartender, Hope. I'm pretty good at reading people. That, and Dean was in my bar the first night you were in the hospital."

Hope stared at Aisy, her brows knitted. "Of course he was. He's not exactly known for having great coping skills. What did he do?"

"Nothing, really," Aisy shrugged, standing up and pacing the small room. Her hands were shoved in the back pockets of her jeans, reminding Hope of one of her undergrad professors giving a lecture. "I don't know for sure he meant to end up there, for what it's worth."

"I'm sure he didn't," Hope said, gritting her teeth as anger seethed inside her chest. She took a deep breath, blowing it out. "So, on a scale of one to Chernobyl, how bad did he self-destruct?" Hope braced herself for the answer and couldn't hide her surprise when Aisy answered.

"I don't know him all that well," Aisy said with a shrug, "but I'd say on that scale it was probably a two. He ignored all Sam's phone calls, drank a fifth of whiskey, then passed out on my cot in the back room."

"That's—not at all what I expected you to say," Hope said, wearing an expression of shocked awe. "I figured he would've done something much worse."

"Well, he wasn't specific about what was going on, but it seemed like he was running away from something. Then Sam showed up and dragged him back, although Dean wasn't too thrilled about it," Aisy said. 

"I'm sure he wasn't," Hope muttered, rolling her eyes. "I'm glad to know that he didn't hit on every girl in sight though. That's usually how it goes after he drinks like that."

Aisy stared at Hope in bewilderment. "Okay, you said that way too calmly. If someone who claimed to love me tried some bullshit like that, I'd want to cut his balls off and force-feed them to him. How are you so zen about the thought of him doing something like that?"

Hope shrugged one shoulder. "I trust him. Of all the ways Dean has or could ever hurt me, screwing someone else hasn't been on the list at all. Dean is a huge flirt, and whiskey brings it out even more, but he loves me and he would never hurt me that way. It's not in his nature. Besides, if he ever did, I'd be gone so fast his head would spin. I might love him, Aisy, but I'm not a doormat."

"Good. Maybe I should stick around and see if your zen rubs off on me," Aisy replied with a wry smile. "So what should we do now?"

"I guess we just wait until everyone gets home," Hope said as her stomach let out a loud growl, "and hope they bring back food."

~~~~~

Almost an hour passed before Sam, Dean, and Bobby all walked into the house simultaneously, and Hope and Aisy glanced up as they entered the library. "Please tell me you brought food," Hope said expectantly. "I'm starving."

Dean grinned at her, holding up the handful of grocery bags he carried. "Gotcha covered, sweetheart. Steaks, potatoes, and rabbit food. Here," he said as he tossed her a bag of black licorice, "I got you your favorite."

Hope caught the bag, glancing at it and scowling at him. "You dick." She lobbed the candy at his head, her eyes glittering with mock indignation as he caught it easily. Sam snorted, busying himself in the kitchen with Bobby as they put away the rest of the groceries. Aisy stared at them, frowning, unsure how serious they were.

Dean's grin widened as he shook his head. "Aww, you know you love me, Hope." 

"You think you're so cute," Hope growled, narrowing her eyes at him. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, his green eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" Dean said, tossing her a bag of her favorite beef jerky. "I'm freakin' adorable and you know it."

Hope rolled her eyes and tore into the bag, shoving a strip of the dehydrated meat into her mouth like a ravenous animal. Aisy watched her with a confused smirk, and Hope held out the bag like an offering. "Want some?" she asked, swallowing and shaking the package.

"I'm good, thanks," Aisy said, watching Dean disappear into the kitchen. She leaned across the couch and whispered, "what just happened?"

Hope's eyes flitted toward Dean, who moved around the kitchen like an expert chef, prepping the steaks for the grill. The back door was open, and the sounds of Sam and Bobby's good-natured argument about proper charcoal briquette stacking gave Hope an odd sense of peace. Of home. It was an argument she'd heard dozens of times. As a matter of fact, she was certain she'd heard it _every_ time the grill was used, and every time, Bobby won, no matter who he was arguing with. 

"Peace offering," Hope said with a soft smile as she rubbed her thumb across the front of the bag she held. "It's Dean's way of saying he's done sulking now." 

Hope handed the bag to Aisy, who stared in surprise as Hope got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen to throw her arms around Dean's waist as he massaged spices into the steaks in front of him. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of him. "I love you, you stubborn ass," she murmured into his back, planting a kiss on his shoulder.

Aisy watched the two of them from her spot on the couch, suddenly feeling like she was spying on something very private as the corner of Dean's mouth lifted and he stopped what he was doing, turning to wrap his arms around Hope and careful to not touch her with his messy hands. He said nothing at first, instead, he pressed his lips to the side of Hope's head for a moment before murmuring something Aisy couldn't hear. Whatever it was made Hope smile, and Aisy's insides warmed at the sight.

Aisy's thoughts turned toward Sam, and heat rushed to her face as she wondered if they might end up like that. She pushed the thought away, cursing herself for being silly and sentimental. Even if Sam did think that way about her, once Dean and Hope learned the truth, it would be all over for her and Sam anyway. 

An air of contentment fell over the house as the dinner preparations continued, and Hope wandered out onto the porch, taking up her usual spot on the railing. She supposed one day she'd be too big to be able to perch like that, one foot swaying slightly as she used the other for balance, but right then, she could do as she pleased. Hope's gaze wandered to the western horizon, and her thoughts followed quickly behind, broken only by the low and distant rumble of thunder.

The wind had picked up now, the muggy late summer breeze lifting strands of Hope's hair and whipping them across her face as the storm spread across the sky like a heavenly tsunami, blocking out the late afternoon sun. Hope heard Dean calling her name from the kitchen, and she slid off the railing and went inside, leaving the front door open as the scent of the coming rain hung thickly in the air.

Bobby carried in the steaks with Sam hot on his heels as the first fat raindrops began to pelt the roof. "Just in time," Dean murmured, glancing toward the ceiling as a streak of lightning flashed and thunder shook the walls of the house. "Come and get it," he said to no one in particular as he made his plate and took a seat at the kitchen table.

After everyone got their plates and settled around the table, they ate in silence for several minutes, listening to the storm rage on outside. It was comforting in a way Aisy hadn't expected, the clinking of utensils against plates, although the lack of conversation was a bit unnerving. She remembered many silent family dinners before Jake left them, and they always made Aisy feel like she was playing hot potato with a short-fused stick of dynamite. Nothing made her think that now though, and she felt the lines of tension in her shoulders relaxing with each passing moment.

"So," Bobby said, taking a pull from his beer bottle, "I was thinking, after we eat we should try to summon Atropos and see what she has to say now that Hope's awake."

Aisy nearly choked on the bite of her baked potato. "You want to summon one of the Fates? Do you really think that's a good idea?" Lightning flashed outside, and the lights flickered around them as they each held a collective breath, trying to decide how to react. Thunder shook the window panes again as the electricity stuttered and died altogether.

"Balls," Bobby muttered, pushing his plate away and getting up from the table to fish some candles out of a drawer near the sink. 

"Well, isn't this romantic," Hope quipped as Bobby lit two candles and set them in the holders on top of the table. "Bobby, you shouldn't have."

Bobby snorted, shaking his head as Dean bit his lip, and Sam looked away, struggling to breathe from the effort it was taking not to laugh. Even Aisy looked slightly amused. "Idjit," he muttered, sitting down again, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath his beard.

They finished their meal, gathering together in the library after cleaning up the dinner dishes. "So," Sam said, lacing his fingers behind his head, "how do we do this? Summon a Moirai?"

"Like this," came a voice from the corner of the room. Atropos stepped forward, leaning against the corner of Bobby's desk. "You wished to see me?"

Sam swallowed several times, suddenly tongue-tied at the sight of Atropos sitting before them. "Yeah," Dean said, glaring at Sam before turning his attention back to her. "Hope says you want us to free Lucifer to fix whatever's wrong with the timeline. Have you lost your mind?"

Atropos leveled her gaze at him, regarding him like one would examine a bug under a magnifying glass. "Technically, what I said was opening Lucifer's cage was the key to fixing what you three idiots broke in the first place."

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, counting in his head. Exploding on a celestial being with the power to end him with little more than a snap of her fingers didn't seem like the most prudent course of action at the moment. "If we open that cage, Lucifer walks free and the world burns. How is that better than a broken timeline?"

Atropos rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on one hand and studying the cuticles of her other. "Like I told the other one," she gestured toward Hope, "I never said it would be better, I said it would fix it." Atropos spread her hands wide, shrugging. 

"Well, from where humanity sits, that won't fix a damn thing, and we're not doing it," Dean said, the air of finality in his voice heavy, like someone threw a wet blanket over a fire.

"Even if your precious angel friend's sanity hangs in the balance?" Dean flinched, and Atropos smirked at him, a knowing glint in her eye. 

"What do you know about Cas?" Dean demanded, seething internally that he sounded so worried. 

"Not much," Atropos admitted, pushing off the desk and pacing the floor. "Just that he's missing. Something you three dimwits haven't figured out yet, apparently."

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, grabbing Atropos by her shoulders. She stared at him, unfazed by his grip on her.

"If I knew that," she said, twisting out of Dean's grasp, "I would tell you. As it is, all I've been able to gather is that he went to see the archangel Raphael and hasn't been seen or heard from since."

"But that was weeks ago," Hope whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. 

"Exactly," Atropos said, gesturing in Hope's direction. "Weren't you even a little suspicious when he didn't come back?"

"We were a little busy," Dean said, his gaze darting toward Hope. "By the way, what the hell was that in the hospital? With the demons?"

"What are you talking about?" Atropos shook her head, looking genuinely confused. "I didn't do anything."

"Well, something powerful exorcised the half dozen demons that were possessing the hospital staff after we gave Hope the cure," Sam said from the corner of the room, finally finding his voice. "Whatever it was wouldn't let us in the room either." 

Atropos shook her head again, her face purposely expressionless. "It wasn't me. I don't get involved in the affairs of mortals that way. I'd look a little closer to home for the answer if I were you." She glanced first at Hope, then Aisy, before turning her gaze back to Dean. "Failing that, find your angel, Castiel. I'm sure he has the answers you seek—if Raphael didn't kill him to ensure his silence."

Before anyone had a chance to respond, Atropos was gone. "Son of a bitch," Dean roared, running a hand down his face. Guilt spread through his chest like a poison choking off his lungs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and right now, he desperately wanted to break something. 

Hope sat curled up on one cushion of Bobby's old couch, chewing on her lip as she turned Atropos' words over in her mind. Sam watched her with bright, curious eyes but said nothing. "Dean—" she started, but Dean was already gone. "Dammit," she muttered, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling as the screen door slammed.

"What is it?" Sam asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Do you know something?"

"Not exactly," Hope replied, shaking her head. "Atropos is speaking in metaphors, I think. What if—" she paused, taking a breath, "what if Lucifer _isn't_ in the cage?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bobby asked. "Of course he's in the cage. He'd be terrorizing the entire world if he wasn't."

"Maybe," Hope replied with a shrug. "But think about it guys, she was overly specific. She said _opening_ the cage would fix the timeline, not that _releasing_ Lucifer would fix the timeline. There's something she's not telling us, either because she doesn't know, or because she just didn't want to spoil her own amusement. Either way, the only way to know for sure is to crack it open, I think. Trust me, we need answers. Sooner—rather than later."

"Why? What's happened?" Sam demanded, his eyes boring into Hope's face as she studiously avoided his gaze. 

Hope sighed, glancing at the doorway to make sure Dean hadn't returned. "If I show you this, you can't tell Dean. He'll freak, and probably lock me up or something." Sam and Bobby glanced at each other warily, unsure of how to answer. "You have to promise me."

"Fine," Sam said, gesturing toward her, "but depending on what it is, you may have to tell him anyway." 

Hope nodded. "I know, but for now, until I have something concrete, I don't want to worry him." She got up from the couch, grabbing the silver hunting knife from the bookshelf nearby and holding the edge of the blade against her forearm. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded as Hope drew the blade across her skin, cutting deep. Blood streamed from the gash, a few drops staining the rug before the same brilliant blue light that had filled the hospital room shone beneath her skin, instantly stopping the bleeding and healing the wound. 

"Oh my God," Aisy whispered, shaking her head. "How?"

"I have no idea," Hope said honestly. "I only realized it earlier today when I got a papercut that healed almost instantly. And when Dean told me what happened at the hospital—" She stopped speaking, shaking her head. "What the hell was in that virus cure, anyway?"

"You don't think the angel blood could do this, do you?" Aisy said in a low voice to no one in particular. 

"I highly doubt it," Bobby said, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of what he'd seen. "Besides, Hope has been possessed by an angel and didn't have any side effects like that. I doubt a few drops of angel blood could give off that kinda mojo. One thing's for sure, end of the world or not, Sam and Dean are gonna have to bust open Lucifer's cage so we can figure out what the hell is going on."

"We can't," Sam said quietly, shaking his head. Hope thought he looked embarrassed, although she wasn't sure why. "In order to open Lucifer's cage, we have to kill Lilith. That might've been possible before when I—" Sam shook his head again, "there's no way. Not now. I'm not strong enough to kill her."

"You and Dean also aren't alone," Aisy said, glancing sideways at Hope. "Hope and I can help. I mean, from the looks of things, she's practically invincible now." 

Hope snorted, wiping the blade clean and replacing it on the shelf. "Yes, but convincing Dean without telling him the truth will be impossible. We're going to have to figure out something else. Besides, we have something else we can focus on for now."

"Yeah?" Bobby said, "what's that?"

Hope glanced at Aisy, who nodded in agreement, and Hope turned back to Bobby. "Aisy has a box that holds a key to what we believe goes to the chapter houses of a secret organization called the Men of Letters. It's what we've been researching since she got here this morning."

"Show me this box," Bobby said, his eyes bright with interest. Aisy glanced nervously at Hope, and she nodded encouragingly. Aisy stood up, heading for the guest room without saying a word. She returned a few moments later, holding the box out to Bobby, who held it gingerly in one hand and traced the carved lines on the lid with the other.

"I've seen this before," Bobby said, handing the box back to Aisy. "How long have you had this?"

"Since my dad died," Aisy answered, lifting her chin. "It's some kind of family heirloom, my dad left it to me to keep safe before he died. Apparently, my family has always guarded it, although I have no idea why."

"I do," Bobby said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly beneath his beard. "Wait here." He walked out of the room without looking back, returning a few minutes later with a dusty, leatherbound journal that he offered to Aisy. She glanced at Bobby with a raised eyebrow, taking the offered book with slightly trembling hands. 

"This was my dad's," Aisy whispered, running her fingers across the worn leather cover and leaving long streaks in the dust. "How did you—"

"Read it," Bobby said, jerking his chin toward the book. "It will explain everything better than I could."

Aisy nodded, curling up on the opposite end of the couch from Hope and gingerly opening the journal. Aisy held it with such reverence; Hope wasn't sure if it was because she was excited or thought the pages might come to life and bite her. The storm had passed, the constant rumble of thunder fading into the distance beyond the house. The power was still out, and the iron-gray sky outside made it impossible to read in the dim evening light. 

Aisy moved to the kitchen where the candles were still burning, sliding into a seat at the table. Her mind worked frantically, trying to make sense of what she'd seen and heard, but it was almost impossible to think clearly. She put everything else out of her mind as she flipped through the pages, skimming the blocked print she knew so well and biting back tears as her dad's words blurred together on the pages. 

After several minutes, Hope stood up and walked to the door. "I'm tired, I think I'm gonna go to bed. It's getting too dark to read anything anyway." 

Sam nodded, glancing toward Aisy, who was lost in her reading. "I'm gonna go find Dean. I'm sure he's probably just in the garage or something."

~~~~~

Aisy didn't notice once Sam, Hope, and Bobby left the room. She didn't even have any idea how much time had passed when she finally reached the end of the journal and looked up to find the old house still and silent. Sighing, she stood up and stretched, tucking the journal under her arm as she retreated to the guest room for some much-needed sleep, only to find it empty. Where the hell was everyone, she wondered blankly as she collapsed headfirst into the pillow and was asleep in seconds.

Morning light streamed through the dirty window, stabbing Aisy in the eyes as she sat up and rubbed the grit from them. Something occurred to her now, shining brightly against the dullness of her other sleep-heavy thoughts, and she reached for her dad's journal, flipping to the last page, to the letter he'd written to her.

_Aislinn,_

_I've left this journal with Bobby; he'll keep it safe, and I know you'll see it when the time is right. I wish I'd been smart enough to tell you all the things you need to know while I still had the chance, but we both know that we are all guilty of believing we have all the time in the world._

_I'm sure you know by now, but you are powerful, sweetheart. You possess magic unlike anything I've ever seen before, or probably will again. You must choose a side in the coming war, and I know you'll choose the correct path. The key will help you do that, but first, you must find the truth. The rest of my journal will help you solve the puzzle because I know you could never resist a good one. Trust Bobby and the Winchester boys; you couldn't ask for better allies or more loyal friends. Above all, take care of yourself, my sweet girl, and don't forget to open your heart and let others love you._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Aisy wiped a tear out from her eye as the door opened, and Hope stuck her head inside. She quickly closed the journal, laying it beside her on the bed as she pasted on a fake smile. "Morning," Aisy said, beckoning Hope inside the room.

"How did you sleep?" Hope asked as she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, watching Aisy with curious eyes. 

"Alright, I guess," Aisy shrugged, reaching for the journal. Something was bothering her, and she couldn't put a finger on what it was. She flipped through the pages, looking for an entry from around the time her brother took off. Her brows furrowed as she read, and Hope leaned closer without realizing it.

"Find anything?" Hope asked, and Aisy glanced up at her through thick lashes, wondering for a moment how much to share with this strange woman who was capable of smiting demons while unconscious and healing herself. Her father's words tumbled around in her head, and she looked away, holding out the journal. 

"Maybe," Aisy said, pointing to the page she was looking at. "Dad wrote this right after Jake took off. I think it might be telling me something; if I could just remember why, this would be so much easier." Hope glanced at the page, skimming the words quickly. 

**July 17th**

**"... It's been 39 days, 8097 minutes since Jordana's death, and I still can't believe she's gone. Jake is not coping, and I fear he resents me…she was the center of everything for me..."**

**July 31st**

**"...for the 98th time, Jake has accused me of standing back and just letting Jordana die, and I grow tired of keeping up the charade. It would've taken an army of 5556 to save her, and all we had at the time was each other. He's going to leave soon, I know it, and I hope that Aislinn will be strong enough to survive without him. There's too much at stake for her to be left without protection…"**

"Hmm," Hope said thoughtfully, standing up and walking toward the library, her mind turning over the possibilities as she sat down at the desk and grabbed a pad and pen, scribbling notes and marking them out as she flipped through the pages of the journal. 

Aisy watched from the doorway, frowning in confusion. "What are you doing?" Aisy asked, coming to stand beside Hope and stare at the journal over her shoulder. "Wait—" Aisy pointed to the entries Hope had just been reading, "my mom died when I was eleven, but she died in December. Jake didn't take off until right before I turned twelve. This isn't right."

"Interesting," Hope said, scribbling on the pad in her barely legible doctor's handwriting. The two of them glanced up as Sam cleared his throat from the doorway, and Aisy smiled at him while Hope returned her attention to the journal and her notes. 

"You guys want coffee?" Sam asked, heading for the kitchen to start a new pot without waiting for an answer. "What are you guys doing?" he asked as he dumped fresh grounds into the basket and pressed the button. 

"Sam, is there a map of the U.S. here?" Hope interrupted, not paying any attention to Sam's question. He shot Aisy a questioning look, and Aisy shrugged. She glanced up, her gaze darting between Sam and Aisy, who stared at her as though she'd just asked them to tapdance a merry jig in the middle of Bobby's library, completely naked. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam said, smirking slightly as he crossed the room and pulled a road atlas off the top shelf of the bookcase. "What are you looking for anyway?"

"I'll know it when I find it," Hope said more curtly than she intended, but she was on a roll right now. Sam shrugged, leaving her alone as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, closing his eyes. He was exhausted, but he forced himself to wake up when he felt Aisy's eyes boring into his skull. 

"Did you and Dean know my father?" Aisy asked, her tone suspicious. 

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he stared at her, confusion etched into the lines of his face. "No. Of course not. If we had, I would've told you—I swear."

"Then how did he know you?" Aisy demanded, rubbing a hand down her face. "He mentions you and Dean specifically. He called you the Winchester boys. How did he know?"

"Aisy, I swear I have no idea," Sam replied, holding up his hands. "I mean, maybe Atropos came to him too. Or someone else. It's not outside the realm of possibility." Aisy avoided his gaze as she considered this, deciding that he wasn't wrong. She nodded, blowing out a breath as Hope jumped to her feet in the library behind them.

"I got it!" Hope yelled, turning in a circle as she did an excited happy dance. Sam and Aisy jumped up, tripping over themselves to get to her. 

"What did you find?" Aisy demanded, breathless with anticipation. Sam hung back, excitement gleaming in his eyes. 

"When you said the dates were wrong, it got me thinking," Hope said, double-checking her notes. "The numbers aren't literal. They're coordinates." 

"Coordinates to what?" Sam asked, and propelled by curiosity, he took a step forward.

"To this," Hope said, spinning the atlas around to face them and pointing at the dead center of the map. "Lebanon, Kansas."

"What the hell is in Lebanon?" Aisy said, her brows furrowing. "My dad and I hunted a werewolf there once, it's a one-stoplight town with like two hundred people. It's got kind of a 'lost in time storybook vibe' if that makes sense, but there's nothing else there."

"Trust me," Hope said, tapping the page. "Whatever that key opens, it's there."

"So, road trip?" Aisy said, her mouth quirking up at the corners. Dean walked into the kitchen, glancing at the three of them as he poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. His hair was sleep mussed and standing on end, like a fluffy hedgehog. 

"Did I hear right?" He said gruffly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Did you say road trip? To where?"

"Lebanon, Kansas," Hope said, glancing at him with trepidation. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he would say next, and she was in no mood to hear it. "I found the location of whatever Aisy's key opens."

"Awesome," Dean said. It was too early for Hope to tell whether he'd intended the word to be sarcastic or if it was just his natural early morning personality shining through to greet the day. "Be ready to leave in twenty minutes."

"Really?" Aisy said, her voice hopeful. "You guys are going to help me find this place? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," Sam shrugged, grinning at her. "Just returning a favor." Aisy smiled back at him, standing up to go grab her bag. 

"I guess I'll meet you guys outside then," Aisy said, disappearing into the hallway. Dean nodded for Sam to go too, and Sam shook his head slightly as he stood up to leave. 

Once Hope and Dean were alone in the kitchen, he glanced at her with wary eyes. "You're staying here, Hope," he said without preamble.

Hope closed her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. "The fucking hell I am, Dean. I'm fine, and I can take care of myself. I'm pregnant, not useless."

"That's right, Hope. You're pregnant, and there's no telling what kind of trouble we will run into on this little errand. You have no business being out there hunting in your condition."

"Seriously, Dean? What happened to doing this together?" Hope demanded, her face flushed with anger. 

"That was before, when it was just our lives at stake. Are you really that irresponsible, Hope? You're carrying our child, that should be your main concern right now. Not hunting monsters."

"You're right," Hope said quietly, and Dean blinked incredulously. "So how about this? You _don't_ leave me here, and I don't leave your sight while we're on this trip?" Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Hope held up her hand to stop him. "And before you say no, just remember that I know exactly where you're going, so even if you leave me here, I'll just follow."

Dean gritted his teeth, his fingertips turning white against the dark ceramic cup as he gripped it tighter. "Son of a bitch," he growled, his jaw muscle twitching. "Fine. But I'm not leaving you alone until we know it's safe, you hear me?"

Hope nodded, throwing her arms around Dean's neck and kissing him so hard that he struggled to catch his breath as she bounded away to grab her bag, leaving him staring after her and wondering when the hell he'd become so easy to manipulate. He sighed, finishing the lukewarm coffee and depositing the cup in the sink before heading upstairs to get his own bag.

Twenty minutes later, the four of them climbed into the Impala, glancing nervously at each other. "You know you guys don't have to do this," Aisy said, staring out the window as Dean started the car. 

"No, we don't _have_ to," Dean said, flashing Aisy a half-smile, "but Sammy here likes you and I owe you for helping with Hope, so here we are." Sam shot Dean a bitchface, and Dean ignored him. "Besides, solo road trips are no fun. You know what makes them even better?"

Aisy shook her head, frowning. Sam shot Dean a look, shaking his head. "No, Dean. We're not doing that again."

"Oh yes we are, Sammy!" Dean said, the tires crunching on the gravel as he pulled out of the drive. He popped in a cassette tape and started singing along with the music. "Roadtrip Karaoke is awesome! You're just afraid you're going to lose and look bad in front of Hope and Aisy." 

Aisy and Hope snickered, and Sam shot them a sour look. "I am not! You just cheat!"

"How the hell can you cheat at karaoke, Sam?" Dean raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, his green eyes glittering with amusement. 

"I don't know, but you do," Sam grumbled, staring out the window. Dean shrugged, turning up the radio.

"C'mon Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Sing it with me now!" Sam rolled his eyes, joining in on the chorus as Aisy and Hope hummed along from the backseat, lending occasional backup vocals. As they rolled down the highway, the four of them all crammed in the car together, Aisy felt a sense of peace come over her she hadn't experienced since her mother died. 

This feeling was so foreign it silenced her, and she leaned back in the seat, watching the other three with a detached curiosity. They weren't related by blood, but they were family anyway, their bond forged by something thicker than blood—shared pain and experience. Hope was right; there was a lot about Sam Winchester Aisy didn't know, but that was perfectly fine with her for now. After all, what was the fun of falling in love with someone without a little mystery?


	33. Walk Away

The sun ducked behind a cloud, casting a long gray shadow across the road as the Impala idled along Main Street, the rumble of her exhaust reverberating off the brick facade of the picturesque storefronts. A few people on the sidewalk cast glances in their direction, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile. A single stoplight hung from a wire suspended across the road a block ahead, and Dean let out a low whistle. 

"You weren't kidding," Dean muttered, leaning forward to get a better view through the windshield, "there is _nothing_ here. Why the hell would some super-secret organization choose here of all places to put a Batcave?"

"Well, I can think of a couple of reasons," Hope murmured. A warm, nostalgic feeling enveloped her as she watched the scenery pass, reminding her of being wrapped in a fresh out of the dryer blanket. "First, it just so happens to be the geographic center of the United States. Second, it's the last place anyone would think to look."

"Really?" Dean said thoughtfully. "You'd think they'd put that in the welcome sign."

Sam snorted, shaking his head as they stopped at the blinking stoplight. "So, which way do we need to go?"

"Right, I think," Hope said, balancing the oversized road Atlas on her lap and glancing between it and her notepad. 

"You think?" Dean said, glancing at Hope in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised. 

"Ninety-percent sure," Hope said, shrugging. Dean stared at her for a few moments, long enough for the car that was stopped behind them to tap its horn impatiently. 

"And the other ten percent?" Dean asked. Hope shrugged again, drawing another sigh from Dean as he hit the blinker and turned right, following the road to the edge of town. 

The rolling hills of central Kansas beckoned them along, and almost ten minutes passed before they topped a hill and saw an out of place forest of ancient towering trees lining both sides of the two-lane highway. Aisy leaned forward, resting her arms on the front seat as she peered through the windshield. 

"There," she said, motioning toward a mostly overgrown dirt road. Dean glanced at her, his eyebrow raised in question. "Trust me. I don't know _how_ I know, only that I do."

Dean sighed again, casting an uneasy glance at Sam, who shrugged back at him as he eased the car off the asphalt highway and onto the dirt road, if it could even be called that now. It was almost entirely overgrown by underbrush, the tree canopy so thick above them that only the most stubborn shafts of light were able to pierce through it. The road consisted of two ruts that wove in and out of the trees, barely visible in some places and never wide enough for more than one vehicle. 

"I'm sorry, Baby," Dean muttered, cringing and gritting his teeth as brambles scraped along the side of the Impala. Hope rolled her eyes, closing the journal and shoving it back into the duffle bag that sat between her and Aisy on the seat, then rested the road atlas on top of it.

The underbrush fell away as they reached a clearing, their mouths gaping in astonishment at a massive concrete building rising up out of the hillside, standing nearly as tall as the trees surrounding it. It looked like it had been abandoned decades ago, and Aisy supposed it probably was, but that didn't stop the shiver that crawled up her spine as she craned her neck to see the rooftop through the Impala's window. 

"Is this the place?" Sam asked, staring out the window too. Aisy swallowed hard, leaning back in the seat as she reminded herself to breathe. 

"It sure seems that way," she said finally, rummaging around in her bag for the box, accidentally knocking the road atlas into the floorboard. "Only one way to find out." She opened the box, lifting the key from the bed of protective material that surrounded it, turning it thoughtfully between her fingers before she tossed the box back into her bag and jerked open the car door.

"Aisy—" Sam called out, but she'd already shut the door and was stalking toward the set of broken concrete steps that lead down to a door set into the side of the hill. "Dammit!" He shoved the car door open, racing after her as Hope and Dean climbed out of the car behind them. 

They gathered around the iron door, surrounded by a bricked archway set into the wall. Aisy blew out a breath, gripping the key tightly against her palm as she slid it into the rusted lock. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, turning the key. The lock clicked, and she pulled open the door, showering the top of her head with flecks of dirt and rust as she took a cautious step inside.

Sam, Dean, and Hope gave each other a shrug, then followed Aisy through the door into the darkness, the cool air rushing at them like a genie being released from a centuries-old lamp, smelling of stale coffee and cigarettes. Hope bit back a sneeze as Dean fished a flashlight out of his jacket pocket, flicking it on. The four of them were standing on a wrought-iron balcony, overlooking what appeared to be a control room. Dean scanned the flashlight beam slowly around the area, landing on what seemed to be a panel box high up on the opposite wall. 

"Aisy," Dean murmured, nodding toward it. Aisy stepped carefully in front of him, following the flashlight beam to the wall. The panel box creaked eerily as Aisy opened it, tilting her head as she studied the tangle of wires and breakers inside. It wasn't like any panel box she'd ever seen before, and she reached out a hesitant hand to flip the switch. It reminded her of the cartoons she'd sometimes watched as a child, where one character would electrocute another by flipping a huge switch. Aisy swallowed, took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, then murmured a prayer to whatever God was listening as she raised first one handle, then the other.

A generator whirred to life somewhere in the deep recesses of the bunker, and the lights in the control room flickered on first, followed by the rooms further inside. Aisy turned, wearing the same stunned look like the others. Beyond the control room was a massive library, one of the biggest she'd ever seen. Without a word, she descended the wrought iron steps to the floor below, "Oh my God," Aisy whispered as she ran her hand along the top of the map table. 

"What is it?" Sam said, his voice edged with concern. Dean gave Sam an odd look but said nothing, busying himself with looking around the area. Aisy turned to Sam, a broad smile on her face. 

"Nothing, it's just—" Aisy turned in another circle, her eyes wide as she took it all in. "I recognize these rooms. My grandfather used to tell me and Jake stories about this place, and the way he described it—it was almost like he was reading a dark fairy tale. Jake and I used to tell him he was making it all up to mess with us. My grandfather would just shake his head and say, 'you'll see. Someday, you'll see.'"

"What kinds of stories?" Sam asked, watching Aisy move about the space. 

Aisy shrugged, not looking at him as she scanned the bookshelves. "All kinds of things. His favorite one was the one he liked to call 'The End of Everything.'" Struck with a memory, Aisy turned, gesturing toward the filing cabinets that lined the library's far back wall, then crossed the room and opened the first one.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, following her. Dean shook his head, the tiniest smirk curving the corners of his mouth.

"Okay," Dean said, gesturing toward Sam and Aisy, "so while you two geek out over there, Hope and I will check out the rest of the place. Sound good?" Neither Sam nor Aisy answered, and Dean rolled his eyes. He nodded for Hope to follow, and she did, although for a moment, she thought about telling him she wasn't a dog—or a child he could order around. She bit her tongue and said nothing; it had been their agreement, after all, she wouldn't leave his sight until he was sure it was safe. 

The thought crossed her mind that his protective smothering was only going to get worse as her pregnancy progressed, and Hope was both delighted and slightly exasperated by that idea. She was so lost in thought she almost walked right into Dean as he stopped short, staring into the huge kitchen area. "Wow," Dean breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Hope stood on tiptoe, trying to see around him but gave that idea up almost instantly. Instead, she stuck her head under his arm and poked him in the ribs as she moved past him. "Move over," she teased. "Not everyone is seven feet tall, you know."

"It's not my fault you're too short to ride most roller coasters," Dean retorted, grinning at her. 

"Fuck you, I am not," Hope pouted as she narrowed her eyes and flipped him off before turning to explore the rest of the kitchen. Dean snorted, leaning against the door frame as Hope walked around the room, opening and closing cabinets randomly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked, sounding amused as he followed her with his gaze. An image came to Dean's mind of the two of them in a house somewhere, moving around each other while cooking as kids and pets run in and out of the room underfoot. It wasn't an unpleasant image, but it was a wholly terrifying one. Was he ready for all that? Would he really be able to settle down and live some apple-pie life somewhere? 

Dean had always believed that hunters never got old and retired, mostly because hunters never seemed to get old. They always died young and bloody, and he always assumed the same thing would happen to him, and most days, he was okay with that. But now…

He pushed the thought away, glancing up to see Hope watching him with curious eyes. "Where did you go right then?" she asked, giving him a soft smile. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"I was," Dean admitted, shaking his head as he stood up straight. "Find anything interesting while you were prowling through the cabinets?"

Hope tilted her head and stared at Dean thoughtfully, unsure whether to press him for more. She quickly decided against it and shook her head as she glanced around the room. "Not really. There's some canned goods and a few packages of pasta that are well past the manufacturer's expiration date, and of course there's the kitchenware, but other than that—" she shrugged, "there's not much here."

"Well, come on then," Dean said as he turned back to the hallway, "what do you say we see what other secrets this place holds?"

Hope laughed dryly. "I think _that_ would take more time than we have."

Dean shrugged, holding out his hand to her. She took it, letting him lead her through the maze of corridors. They'd found the sleeping quarters and shower room, as well as the garage and armory before Sam's voice, echoed through the hallways as he shouted for Dean. Hope raised her eyebrows, and Dean shrugged, calling back in answer as they made their way back to the library.

"What is it?" Dean said breathlessly as he entered the library, his gaze darting between Sam and Aisy. "Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Dean," Sam said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Aisy found something she wants to show us." Dean frowned as Aisy looked up from the ledger book she held, her eyes gleaming with untold secrets.

"You're probably gonna want to sit down for this," she said, gesturing toward the chairs lining the long wooden tables in the center of the library. "Seriously. I'm about to drop some knowledge on you, and it's a fuckin' doozy of an information bomb."

Sam shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting down, then glared at Dean to do the same. Dean rolled his eyes and sat across from Sam, glaring right back at his brother. Hope sat next to Dean, propping one elbow on the table as she waited for Aisy to speak.

Aisy stood at the far end of the table, her mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara desert. Her palms were sweaty, and she wiped her free hand on the leg of her jeans. She licked her lips and set the ledger book on the table. "Does the name Henry Winchester mean anything to either of you?"

Sam shook his head, his brow knitted in concentration as he wracked his brain for any memory of John mentioning that name. "It doesn't to me. Why? Should it?"

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face and letting his head fall back so he was staring at the ceiling. "Maybe. Why?"

Sam stared at him, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean, maybe? Dad never mentioned us having any relatives."

"Maybe not to you," Dean said quietly, still staring at the ceiling to avoid everyone's incredulous stares. "But you weren't the one who helped him to bed when he'd drink himself stupid after a hunt, either." An awkward silence fell across the room, and Aisy cleared her throat. Sam cast a sad look in Dean's direction, then gestured for Aisy to continue.

"That story my grandfather told me was about the demon attack that wiped out the Men of Letters. It was during Henry Winchester's last initiation ritual, apparently. Aisy set the ledger book on the table between them, pointing to the list of names. There, below Jacob Mallory's signature, was another neat cursive signature—Henry Winchester.

Sam and Dean stared at the signature in silence, neither daring to speak until Dean's face flushed with rage, and he stood up and began pacing the room. He wanted to punch something, although he wasn't entirely sure why. He stopped at the far end of the library, facing away from the others as he dropped his chin to his chest and blew out a breath. His nerves were raw, like someone touching live wires together as the memories of John's drunken rants about his father leaving his wife and son to survive on their own flooded his mind. Dean thought he'd buried most of that, leaving it hidden in some dark recess of his mind, never to be examined again. 

"Dean?" Sam said softly. "Are you alright?"

"No," Dean said, lifting his head but not turning around. It was probably the first time in the history of his life that he didn't lie when Sam asked if he was alright, and he wondered why. "No, I'm not, Sam."

He turned toward Aisy then, folding his arms across his chest. "Tell us the story," he said, not moving from where he stood. "Everything you remember."

Aisy nodded, swallowing hard. "O-okay," she replied. She was uncharacteristically nervous, and without understanding why, she glanced at Sam. His expression was open and curious where Dean's had been closed and angry, and she found a small amount of comfort in his pale green eyes. Color flushed her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to the open ledger book in front of her. 

She took a deep breath and started from the beginning, reciting the story as if her grandfather had just told her yesterday, not twenty-some-odd years before. "It was August 1958, and the two new initiates, Josie and Henry, were sent to investigate some demonic activity in a convent as part of their last rite of initiation. My grandfather wasn't there for it, but he was there for what came after. Henry and Josie had been sent to investigate demons who happened to serve a Knight of Hell named Abbadon. My grandfather didn't know exactly how it happened, but Abbadon ended up possessing Josie, and when she and Henry returned from the convent having killed all the demons, they went ahead with the initiation."

"All of the members were always present for initiations, and when Abbadon revealed herself it was too late. She slaughtered everyone except my grandfather. The chief at the time, Mr. Markham—shoved the box with the key into my grandfather's hands and told him to run. He stubbornly refused to leave his brothers-in-arms, and he was there when Abbadon delivered the blow that would end up killing Henry, but not before Henry shot her with his revolver. You see, Henry's talent was symbols." Aisy stopped, taking a breath before continuing on. The silence in the room was heavy with anticipation, and she wondered how long it would take Dean to catch on to what she would say next. 

"Henry had carved a Devil's trap into the bullet, keeping Abbadon from leaving Josie's body when he shot her. My grandfather did the only thing he could do then, he cut off her head and dismembered the rest of her body. He created these magical boxes to hold all of Josie's body parts before burying the parts in unmarked locations all over the country, putting as much distance between them as possible. My grandfather's talent was sorcery; he was one of the best the Men of Letters had ever seen. After that, he never came back here. He always said there was no point because everyone was dead, but he was always adamant that my father protect the box. I never knew why, and I always thought the story was bullshit—a fairy tale lesson on the dangers of young hunters messing with things they didn't understand or something." 

Aisy shrugged, scanning the library again. "I never once thought it was true," she murmured, a wistful smile curving her lips.

"So how did you end up with the box?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed at Aisy. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and she pressed her lips into a thin line and let out a long breath before she answered.

Sam tilted his head and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head once, his expression a mixture of concern and apprehension. He seemed to be asking if she was sure she wanted to share everything. Aisy nodded once to Sam in acknowledgment, then turned her attention back to Dean.

"My grandfather died when I was nine. He's probably the only hunter I ever knew that just grew old and died. As far as I knew, he never actively hunted again after what happened in 1958. He settled down, found a wife, and they had a son—my father. When my grandfather died, he left everything to my father, including the key and the location of this place. The key should've been passed to my brother when my father was killed, but Jake had no talent with magic and had no desire to do anything my father wished. So to keep it safe, Dad left it to me."

"So—" Dean said, drawing the word out, "you're a witch?"

Aisy closed her eyes and let out an exasperated breath. She gritted her teeth and opened them again, staring at him with a neutral expression. "No. I'm a sorceress. There's a difference."

Dean shook his head, seething. "No there isn't. Magic isn't something anyone who's human can wield, and of all the supernatural creatures we've hunted, witches rank right up there with demons in my book. There's no such thing as a good witch, just like there's no such thing as a good demon."

"Well, lucky for me I'm not a fucking witch then," Aisy growled, gripping the back of the chair in front of her until her fingertips turned white. She scowled at him, and he returned her dark look with one of his own. 

"Okay, can we all just take a breath?" Hope said, glancing at Sam for help. Dean caught the look, turning on Sam.

"Did you know about this, Sam?" He demanded. Sam said nothing, just exhaled through his nose as he rubbed his temples. 

"Yes," Sam said, staring at Dean blankly. 

"Unbelievable," Dean growled, crossing his arms again and staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. Rage turned his blood to fire, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from saying anything else. He'd known she was hiding something all along, so her revelation didn't come as a surprise. The fact that Sam knew what she was and hadn't stabbed her in her damn throat the first chance he got shouldn't have come as a surprise either—but it did. It came as a surprise and betrayal. 

"Dean," Sam started slowly. "Aisy's not evil and you know it. She helped save Hope's life. Without her—"

"Stop it," Dean growled. "Don't try and justify this, Sam. This is that hell bitch Ruby all over again and I'm not going to sit here and let you go down that road."

"You can think whatever you want, Dean," Sam shouted, slapping his hands on the table as he stood up. "Aisy is _not_ Ruby, and you don't get any say about any of it. My life, my choices."

"Yeah," Dean replied, the accusing edge in his voice sharp as a razor blade, "It _was_ your life, and it _was_ your choices. Too bad it was _our fucking consequences_! We almost unleashed hell on Earth because of that demon bitch, or have you forgotten?"

"Of course not," Sam shot back, "but it's not like you've never fucked up royally, either, Dean."

"Alright," Hope said, standing up and glaring at Sam and Dean. "Both of you knock it off. I have something to say. But first, I have a question for Aisy."

Aisy stared at Hope with a confused frown. After a moment, she nodded. Hope nodded back and said, "What's the difference? Between a sorceress and a witch?"

"Nothing," Dean interjected from the other end of the table.

"Shut up," Hope said, glaring at him. "I'm not talking to you right now." Sam, Dean, and Aisy all stared at Hope incredulously. She'd never spoken to any of them like that before, and Sam and Aisy shared a worried glance. Hope turned her attention back to Aisy. "Please, I want to know."

"Alright," Aisy said, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip before speaking. "A witch gets their power from demons. It's like when people make crossroads deals, except there's no time limit. Just whenever they die, their souls go to hell. Sorcery is more—" she paused, fumbling for the right words, "—innate, I guess. The power comes from emotion."

Dean snorted, and Hope glared at him again. "So, power of positive thinking, law of attraction, kind of like that?" Aisy considered this, tilting her head to one side and wondering what Hope was trying to get at.

"It's more than that, although I suppose in its most rudimentary form that could be considered sorcery, yes," Aisy replied. Hope nodded, a small smile curving her lips.

"So, basically, _any_ human can perform rudimentary sorcery," Hope pointed out. "I mean, there's a billion dollar self-help industry that supposedly shows anyone how to do it."

"I, uh—" Aisy said, understanding dawning in her eyes, "well—yeah, I guess. Most people aren't very good at it, but that doesn't mean they aren't capable."

Dean snorted again, slapping his thighs as he stood up. "I've heard enough of this shit. Sam, Hope, let's go. We've returned the favor she did us, we're done."

"No," Sam said, moving to stand next to Aisy. "I'm not leaving unless _she_ wants me to, and since this place is as much a part of our legacy as it is hers, it's not a choice you get to make for me, Dean."

"Fine," Dean growled, gesturing to Hope. "Hope?"

Hope stood frozen for a moment, then shook her head and moved to stand on the other side of Aisy. "I'm staying too. This time you're wrong, Dean. So you go ahead and do what you need to do, but I can't go with you on this. Things aren't always black and white, and I hope like hell that someday you understand that."

"I will straight up leave your asses here," Dean said flatly, although he was sure the threat would fall on deaf ears. "I'm not coming back."

"We understand," Hope said sadly as she glanced at Sam, who nodded in agreement, "you do what you have to, and we'll do the same."

A look of murderous rage crossed Dean's face, but he said nothing else, just turned on his heel and stomped up the iron staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing off the concrete walls of the bunker. Hope startled as the outside door slammed, leaving the three of them surrounded in silence. 

Aisy's eyes filled with tears as she glanced first at Sam, then Hope. "You didn't have to do that," she murmured, pulling out the chair she held onto and sinking into it. "Why did you do that, Sam?"

"He might be my big brother, but that doesn't always mean he's right," Sam replied with a nonchalant shrug. Aisy glanced at Hope then, and Hope nodded.

"What about you?" Aisy said, "After everything, and the way I acted toward you at first, why would you do that for me? What if he leaves for good?"

Hope swallowed, pasting on a soft smile. "He won't. He's angry right now, but he'll calm down eventually. Or better yet, he'll go all the way back to Sioux Falls and bitch to Bobby or Jody, either of whom will kick his ass all the way back here. And even if he doesn't come back, that's his choice to make. But just because he's the love of my life doesn't mean I have to agree with him when he's wrong. Like I told you once before, I love him but I'm not a doormat."

Sam grinned at Hope, sitting in the chair next to Aisy. Hope did the same, and Aisy gave her a grateful smile. "I have to say, I didn't expect this. It's been a long time since anyone stood up for me like that. Not since—" she sniffed, wiping a stray tear that landed on her cheek as she blew out a breath. "Not since Jake." 

Sam reached for Aisy's hand, covering it with his own. "You're not alone anymore, and whether Dean realizes it or not, you're part of the family now. This was your initiation, and you passed with flying colors."

Aisy frowned, and Hope chuckled. "What he means is that you didn't hurt Dean, even though he was being a giant asshole, so you're gonna be fine."

"Well," Aisy said dryly, "if I used magic on everyone who was ever an asshole to me, some hunter would've tracked me down and killed me by now. I mean, I do have _some_ self control."

"Some control is better than no control, believe me," Sam said, letting go of Aisy's hand as he leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful. 

Hope watched the two of them, stifling the smile that threatened to give her thoughts away. There was more than one reason Sam chose to stay, and she wondered if Aisy knew what seemed so apparent to Hope as she watched them now. It amused her to think that this was what Sam's life was like for the past several months, and she bit her tongue to keep from blurting out an 'I'm sorry we were complete idiots' apology. 

"So, anybody wanna see if we can get one of the cars in the garage running? I'm starving," Hope said. As if on cue, her stomach let out a loud rumble that echoed through the room.

"Sure," Sam said. "Can't have the baby going hungry now, can we?"

"Absolutely not," Hope replied, grinning. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the extra time between chapters, real life has been kicking my butt lately and I haven't had the energy to write much. Things have calmed down a bit, so hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to write. 
> 
> The next chapter or two is going to veer off the main plot of this story and introduce another canon character to the insanity.😂 I'm really excited about it, and I hope you all will enjoy it too.
> 
> Comments? Theories? Screams and/or keyboard smashes? Let me know in the comments! 😉


	34. Drive

_**Two Weeks Later** _

Hope moved about the bunker kitchen, gathering various ingredients from the cabinets and setting them up on the long island. Baking had always been her stress relief growing up; something about creating something delicious from random ingredients always made her feel better. Hope pulled out a stainless steel mixing bowl and carefully measured and mixed the flour, sugar, and butter. Once the dough formed, she turned it out on the island surface and rolled it flat. 

The bunker was eerily still this early in the morning, and she didn't want to wake the other inhabitants—human or otherwise. She, however, hadn't slept more than a couple hours at a time since Dean left. Her initial shock at his reaction had quickly turned to anger, then sadness. Why couldn't Dean just listen to what Aisy had to say? 

Hope understood from Sam and Dean's argument that this wasn't the first time Sam got involved with someone who wasn't human and it had ended badly, but where Sam stayed open-minded after experiences, even horrible ones, Dean did not—it was one of his fatal flaws. After whatever happened back then, Dean stopped seeing the good in anyone who wasn't human—which, in Hope's opinion, was the equivalent of being racist. She wasn't about to go down that road with him, especially not when she'd been at the mercy of some pretty monster-like humans herself.

Hope stood back and admired her handiwork. It had been years since she'd taken the time to make a pie crust from scratch, and for a first attempt, it didn't look too terrible. She greased the pie pan, then pressed the flaky dough into the correct shape, pinching and folding the edges like she'd seen her mother do a thousand times. Her thoughts drifted back to Dean, and she glanced at her cell phone lying on the edge of the island. 

She'd done that a ridiculous number of times in the past several days, and she chastised herself mentally for doing it now. Dean wasn't going to call her—Hope knew this with the same certainty that she knew the sun would rise in the Eastern sky each morning. He probably wouldn't even call Sam unless he was seconds from death, and even then, it would only be to tell Sam Dean was right because he's the older brother. Hope rolled her eyes at the thought and popped the pan into the waiting oven.

Sighing, she picked up her phone and stared at it, her own stubborn pride warring with her love for him. In the end, she tapped out a quick message. _I have a doctor's appointment next week for the baby. Come or don't, it's up to you._ Hope's thumb wavered over the send button, and she took a steadying breath before pressing it. There was no answer, but she hadn't expected one, not really. 

The oven timer went off, and Hope retrieved the pie pan, pouring in the filling she'd made the day before and laying the lattice top over it before popping it back into the oven. _Maybe Dean will smell the pie and come running._ Hope snorted at the thought, ignoring the longing that seeped through her body like a slow-moving poison. 

~~~~~

Dean grunted as the machete sliced through the last vampire's neck with a satisfying sound. Headless bodies were strewn all around him on the abandoned warehouse floor, the concrete slick with pooling blood. That one was the last of the nest he'd been tracking since he'd bailed on the others at the bunker. Flecks of dark crimson vampire blood-stained Dean's face and hair, and he growled when he caught his moonlit reflection in one of the broken warehouse windows as he walked back to where he'd parked the Impala.

Even now, anger clawed at the inside of his chest like a caged demon determined to be set free. Dean didn't know how to make it stop; he'd never learned how to calm the rage that seemed to be written into every part of his DNA, so instead, he did the only thing he knew how to do—he hunted. He hadn't hunted alone since 2005, and he hated doing it, especially angry. That was how hunters got themselves killed, or worse. There was no way in hell he was calling Sam, though. That would be like saying he was wrong, and Dean knew in his gut he wasn't wrong about this. _Or was he?_ He shook his head, opening the trunk of the Impala and reaching for a rag to clean the blood and ichor off the machete blade before putting it away.

Dean's phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, startling him. He'd half expected Hope to call Bobby and tell him that Dean was acting unreasonable, and he'd been bracing himself for a phone call from Sioux Falls telling him he was the world's biggest idjit and to get his ass back to Hope and Sam. It hadn't come, though, and he found himself slightly disappointed. His eyes widened in surprise to see a message from Hope when he fished his phone out of his pocket. 

Dean slammed the trunk, leaning against the car as he read her short text three times. He hadn't thought about the baby at all since he left. _Just one more reason she's better off without you_ , said the nagging little voice inside his head; they _all are. They don't need you._

It was true, he supposed; no one _needed_ him anymore. Sam was all grown up and making his own bad decisions, and Hope—well, no matter what, Hope would survive. He missed them, though, and he chewed on his lip as he stared at the phone screen and debated whether or not to answer. Before he could decide, his phone vibrated again. 

It was a message from a number he didn't recognize, and he swallowed down the knot of anxiety that threatened to lodge in his throat and cut off his air supply as he read the message twice.

_This is Aisy. I got your number from Sam's phone. I know what you think about me, and I get it, but you shouldn't let anything come between you and Sam, especially not me. I know you don't trust me, but please believe me when I say that I'd give almost anything to have my brother back. Please, just call Sam. He keeps saying he's fine, but he's not. Neither is Hope. Your family needs you as much as you need them._

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Aisy was the last person he'd expected to hear from—ever. What kind of game was she playing? No matter how much he thought about it, Dean couldn't come up with a single nefarious explanation for why she'd reach out to him and ask him to call Sam. If anything, wouldn't she be glad her presence had driven a wedge between them? _Are you absolutely sure you were right?_

The thought gnawed at his gut, and he shoved the phone back into this pocket, leaving both messages unanswered. He slid into the driver's seat and started the car, smiling to himself as the Impala rumbled to life. "Hey Baby, at least I'll always have you," he murmured, pointing the car toward the nearest interstate.

~~~~~

Sam stared at the ceiling in frustration as he rolled onto his back. He was exhausted, and yet sleep refused to come. He supposed he should be used to that by now; he never slept well when Dean wasn't nearby—although he'd never admit that out loud to anyone. He sighed, throwing back the blanket as he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was just about to get up and go find some coffee when a soft knock came from the door. It was almost too low for Sam to hear, and he stared at the door for a moment in confusion. 

"Sam?" Aisy's muffled voice came through the door. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, sounding gruffer than he intended, and he cleared his throat before adding, "come on in."

The door opened just wide enough for Aisy to slip through before closing it again and leaning against it, her hands behind her back as she gripped the handle. "Hey," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry to bother you, but—"

"You aren't," Sam said, gesturing to the bed beside him. "I wasn't sleeping anyway."

"I know," Aisy said quietly, perching on the edge of the bed next to Sam. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands. "I haven't been sleeping much either. I just keep thinking about everything."

"It's alright," Sam said with a wry smile. "It's not your fault that my brother is one of the most stubborn creatures in the universe. He thinks because he's the oldest he's always right."

"And he usually is," Aisy said quietly, thinking of Jake. 

"Except when he isn't," Sam countered, tucking a finger under Aisy's chin and lifting it to look into her eyes. They were the color of the fog that rolled through Bobby's salvage yard after a spring storm. "He's not right this time, you know."

"I know," Aisy said, nodding and moving out of Sam's reach. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, and the idea both excited and terrified her at the same time. He'd kept his distance since the morning after the fire, and Aisy wondered more times than she liked to admit if he just wasn't that into her. She gave him a sideways glance, then took a deep breath. "Will you tell me who Ruby is?"

Sam's jaw tightened, and he said nothing for a long moment. "Look, Aisy—"

"You know what—never mind. It's none of my business and I shouldn't have asked," Aisy said quickly, springing up from the bed and bolting toward the door. Sam caught her by the wrist before she could leave, and she jerked her head around to look at him, color flooding her cheeks.

"Hey," Sam said, releasing her. His tone was thoughtful, meditative almost, and she studied his face for a moment. His pale green eyes were sad, and Aisy thought he looked almost—embarrassed. What could he have done that was so terrible? "It's understandable that you want to know. I mean, you've told me some of your secrets, it's only fair that I should share some of mine. I just," he paused, pressing his lips together as he looked away, "I don't like thinking about it too much. Remember when I said I've things I'm not proud of? That time in my life is exactly what I meant."

"I see," Aisy said, her expression contemplative. "Look, Sam, if you don't want to tell me right now, you don't have to. I get it. Although I would like to know why your brother compared me to a hell bitch." She used air quotes when she repeated the words Dean used, making Sam snort. 

"Fair enough," Sam said as he stood up and stretched. "But first, coffee."

"Agreed," Aisy said, gesturing toward the door. "Lead the way."

Sam and Aisy found Hope in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on an apple pie. She glanced up as they walked in, a soft smile curving her mouth. "Hey, guys. I didn't think anyone else was up yet, and I couldn't sleep."

"I-is that apple pie?" Sam asked, bemused. He walked toward the sideboard where they'd put the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup and then sitting down at the dining table.

Hope looked slightly embarrassed as she nodded. "When I was in high school, baking was a kind of stress relief for me. I guess somewhere along the way I replaced baking with whiskey," she said, absently wiping her hands on a dishtowel. 

"It's okay," Sam said as he took a sip from the mug. "I'm not judging. Baking is far less self destructive than some other things."

"Right, well, I'm done for now so I'll get out of your hair," Hope said, heading for the door.

"Actually," Sam said, his voice freezing Hope in place, "I was just about to tell Aisy about Ruby. If you want to stay and hear the story, I don't mind."

Hope turned, her gaze darting between Sam and Aisy. "Are you sure about that, Sam? It's really none of my business."

"I think it is," Sam said with an air of finality. "You both need to know what happened before we try to open Lucifer's cage. Maybe this way I won't repeat the same mistakes."

"Alright," Hope said, taking a seat at the table across from Sam. "I'm listening."

It took Sam almost two hours to recall the story of how he and Dean barely managed to avoid unleashing the Apocalypse on Earth. He started from the beginning and told them everything, from when Castiel pulled Dean out of hell, his addiction to demon blood and the havoc that wreaked on his and Dean's lives, and ending with Dean killing Ruby with the very same knife she'd given them and how they locked away Lilith.

After he finished, a heavy silence settled around them as Hope and Aisy processed everything Sam said. Before anyone could speak, the heavy door of the bunker creaked open, and the three of them stared at each other, wide-eyed. "Stay here," Sam mouthed, walking to the door and poking his head out into the hallway. After a few seconds of silence, Dean's voice echoed through the bunker.

"Sam?"

"Dean?" Sam said, glancing back at Hope and Aisy with a frown before he disappeared out of the kitchen. Hope and Aisy shared a confused glance and followed Sam down the hall toward the library. 

Sam reached the library and stopped short in the doorway when he caught sight of Dean standing at the base of the wrought-iron staircase, causing Hope and Aisy to nearly collide with the solid mass of him. Dean stood still, looking exhausted and still covered with vampire blood and ichor. He watched Sam with sorrowful eyes as they stared each other down in silence. 

Sam cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that formed there. "You alright?" he said, nodding toward Dean's clothes.

Dean frowned, then followed Sam's gaze to his clothing. "Oh, this? It's not mine," he said, flashing what he hoped was a quick smile of reassurance. He didn't really want to admit to anyone he'd gone out hunting alone.

"Good," Sam said, glancing away and not returning Dean's smile. "So why are you here then? You made it pretty clear how you felt before you left and nothing has changed."

Dean's face fell, although he wasn't sure that he expected anything less from his younger brother. Sam was just as stubborn as Dean in his own right, and it made times like these even more difficult. "I know. I've been doing a lot of thinking since I left and—" Sam rolled his eyes and glared at Dean, who held up his hands. "Just—hear me out, okay?"

"Fine." Sam let out a long breath, stepping into the library as Hope and Aisy followed. "Talk."

"Well," Dean started, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end like a hedgehog, "like I said, I needed to clear my head after I left, so I went hunting."

"Alone?!" Sam cried, getting a sharp look from Dean in response. 

"No, Sam, I invited the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny to join me. What the hell do you think?" Dean snapped, feeling slightly guilty at Sam's bitchface expression. "Look, that's not the point. The point is, it gave me a lot of time to think."

"Yeah, two fucking weeks," Hope growled from her seat at the table. She'd told herself she was okay with Dean dropping them like a bad habit and bailing to do God knew what. In fact, she'd repeated it until it was a mantra, and she almost believed it—until she saw him standing in the bunker, looking lost and repentant. All the hurt and anger she'd stuffed down since he left rose to the surface like a nuclear mushroom cloud, and she was powerless to control it. "I guess that's better than six years though, huh?"

Dean ignored the jab, but Sam saw his jaw muscle twitch. Hope had struck a nerve, but for whatever reason, Dean wasn't taking the bait. _Interesting_ , Sam thought. 

"When I finally calmed the hell down and stopped acting like a crazy person I realized that I don't have to trust Aisy—but I should trust the two of you. We're family, and that matters more than anything. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to trust you But I swear to God, if this turns out badly—I'm done. I'm tired of all of it, Sam. I'm tired, and I'm done." Dean ran a hand down his face, turning his gaze to Hope before Sam had a chance to reply.

"I'm sorry, Hope," Dean said, shaking his head as his throat tightened and he couldn't say anything more. Hope didn't respond, and the silence in the room grew thicker with each passing moment. Finally, Sam crossed the room in long strides and pulled Dean into a hug, holding his breath and trying to ignore the blood spatter in Dean's hair. 

"I'm glad you're back," Sam murmured. Dean closed his eyes for a moment in silent relief, and when he opened them, he saw Aisy leaning against the doorway with a soft smile of satisfaction on her face. 

"Thank you," Dean mouthed silently. Aisy nodded once, then turned and walked back into the kitchen. Hope watched the exchange from her seat at the table, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. What _had_ Aisy done? Hope supposed it didn't matter. Whatever it was got Dean back to the bunker and to them. Even as angry as Hope was with Dean, she counted it as a win that he was here and in one piece.

"We're _living on the edge…_ " Aisy's ringtone bounced off the bunker's concrete walls, echoing as though someone had yelled the chorus into a canyon. Dean pulled away from Sam, glancing in every direction.

"What the—?" Dean started. Sam waved it off with a slight smile.

"It's Aisy's phone. Nothing to worry about," Sam said, turning toward the door as Aisy walked back into the room, anxiously pressing the phone to her ear. She set the phone down on the table, pressing the speaker button as a terrified woman's voice filled the space.

"Char-Charlie—slow down. Deep breaths," Aisy said, ignoring the three sets of eyes fixed firmly on her. "Start from the beginning. Where are you?"

Sam tilted his head, his brow creasing with worry. "That doesn't sound like nothing to worry about," Dean muttered as Sam held up a hand to shush him.

"My apartment. I-I know I should've called you sooner, b-but I thought I could handle it," Charlie said.

"Handle what?" Aisy asked, frowning as her pulse quickened, thumping wildly beneath the skin of her neck. "What's happening?"

"There were-were these people, all of them died in the same twenty-mile radius, and all of them had liquified insides. I started asking questions and I thought it was something I could handle, and I didn't need to call you, but—oh God, she's here—" Charlie's voice was cut off by the sound of exploding wood and a muffled scream, followed by a thud as the phone hit the ground and then silence. 

"Charlie?!" Aisy cried, tears stinging her eyelids as she closed them. "Charlie! Dammit!" There was no answer, and Aisy jabbed the end button with her finger and shoved her phone back into her pocket. She ran from the room without another word, heading for her bedroom. Sam and Dean shared a look then followed her, Hope trailing behind them.

Sam found Aisy frantically shoving weapons and gear into her duffle bag. "Aisy?" he asked, getting no response. He crossed the room, taking her hands in his own. She glared at him, jerking away.

"I have to go, Sam, now. Charlie's in trouble." She turned away, scrubbing her hands down her face and willing herself not to cry. "Believe me—I'm the last person on the planet she would've called for help, which means whatever is after her is bad and I have to go before she gets herself killed." Aisy blew out a breath, then murmured almost too low for anyone to hear, "if she hasn't already."

"Alright," Sam said, squaring his shoulders and nodding. "Where is her apartment?"

"Seriously?"

"Look, whatever took her didn't sound friendly, so you need backup," Sam said gently. "We'll go with you."

Aisy stared at Sam for a moment, bewildered. "Um," she bit her lip, thinking, "Topeka. Her apartment is in Topeka."

"Great," Sam said, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let's go. We'll run Dean through a car wash on the way." 

Dean held up a middle finger, getting an involuntary snort from Aisy. "I think we can spare five minutes to let him shower," Aisy said. "I don't even think a high pressure car wash would help him much though."

"Hardy har har," Dean growled, turning on his heel and heading for the showers, grumbling under his breath.

Sam watched him leave, then turned his attention back to Aisy, who was busy trying to shove everything she owned into her faded black duffle bag. Sam nodded to Hope as he took Aisy's hands, leading her to the chair and gently pressing her down into it. Aisy glared at Sam, annoyed that he was treating her like a child and somehow flattered that he cared enough about her to treat her that way. _It doesn't mean he wants you, silly girl_ , she told herself. 

"All done," Hope announced a few minutes later as she picked up Aisy's duffle by the handles and held it out to her. "Everything fits now."

"Thanks," Aisy said quietly as she stood up and headed for the bunker door. "I'll see you guys in the car."

Ten minutes later, Sam was loading their duffle bags into the trunk of the Impala as Dean emerged from the bunker, casting a narrowed glance at Hope. She glared back at him as he approached, and she held up one hand to stop whatever he was about to say.

"Save it, Dean," she growled. "I'm going and that's final. We don't have time to argue, and I'll be _fine_ —trust me."

"Hope—" he started, but she shook her head.

"No. Just shut up and drive, Dean, that's all you have to do," Hope said, jerking open the passenger door of the Impala. "Please tell me you can do that much."

He opened his mouth to protest, casting a beseeching look in Sam's direction. Sam shrugged, crossing his arms and regarding Dean with a raised eyebrow. Dean growled, cursing under his breath as he slid into the driver's seat and started the car. This was _not_ going the way he'd planned. Then again, when had anything in his life _ever_ gone to plan? He sighed, glaring at Hope in the rearview mirror, but she ignored him. It was going to be a long ride to Topeka.


End file.
